


The Lost Hero

by WritingRampant



Series: Heroes of Hylia [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingRampant/pseuds/WritingRampant
Summary: Under gathering Shadow, Hyrule and Ordon must unite against the evil threatening their lands. Link has been prepared for this battle since his childhood, the Champion of the Goddess Ordona and Master of the Sword. Reluctantly allying with the Queen of Hyrule, they prepare to confront the encroaching Shadow. However, betrayal, both mortal and divine, threaten to tip the balance of the Endless Battle. Ganon rises and the world has lost its Hero.





	1. Into the Watch

 

**Prologue**

The man’s voice was a gasping rasp. “Quickly, _quickly!”_

He could sense them, feel their bodies close. This one was failing him, burned, destroyed by the power it carried. They chanted, foolish nonsense evolved over generations. They had no real power, only the lust for it. If they wanted to indulge in this cultish playacting to flatter themselves, he did not mind. The closer it bound them to him, the better.

The world was dim with more than torchlight. He could feel this body dying, the separation and pain.

“Do it now!”

One was presented. They had some vain selection process, bickering amongst themselves. He forced the faltering vessel to stand, to take this new one close so he could See it.

Strong enough, cunning. Eager. Accepting.

It was an agony unlike anything this mortal could have imagined, could possibly endure. Even the most slavering devotees edged back as he moved from the dead husk to the new. The old one’s soul had long since burned into nothingness. This one was even weaker.

How long since he had felt the might of old? How weak had men grown these generations?

They would learn soon enough true power.

He stood, feeling the potential of this body. He flexed his hands, felt his chest. It would do, for now.

These acolytes, these _slaves_ , of all races and kens, cowered before him.

“Go,” he snarled.

They scrambled to get out of reach. This soul’s memories were weak, but interesting. There were people here, a populace. A recent war.

He tried to find him, but this body was just too weak. He cursed it, even as he reveled in its prophesy. Men had grown weak and he had grown strong. He was so close. He could just feel him. Now, he only needed to survive long enough to find him.

He caught the last of the acolytes, cringing in the darkness. It mewled pathetically as he drained its life force into his own. Dropping the carcass, he straightened with renewed strength.

There were many people here. He would be strong when the time came, strong enough to take back what was his.

 

**Chapter One: Into the Watch**

The sun washed the dusty landscape into a shimmering, golden haze. Squinting against the brilliance, he could just see the caravan moving swiftly across the plain. The merciless sun glinted off the metal of the outriders’ armor.

The pine trees gave little shade. He climbed back to the earth, almost skipping down the branches. The rich, tingling scent of the sap followed him to the ground. He stayed crouched in the dry grass at the base of the tree and glanced over the camp.

The tree he had just vacated was the tallest in the area, maybe thirty, thirty-five feet. The rest were low and tough, standing firm, but bent under the power of the wind. His soldiers were at the ready, watching the surrounding countryside. He had hand-picked this team, each man loyal and intelligent. He wished there were three times the number, but that decision had been out of his hands.

“Captain?”

Lord Ordon was waving for him. The older man sat relaxed but alert in the shade of an awning erected between stout poles. His lord smiled at him.

“Did you touch the clouds, my champion?”

The old joke roused a brief answering smile. “None to be seen, my lord. The caravan has crossed the river.”

Ordon sighed and rubbed his face. A solitary bird chirped hesitantly in the morning hush. Then, “Is this a good idea, Link?”

Ordon’s champion grimaced. “Do we have a choice?”

Lord Ordon glanced to the northwest, where the mountains rose up to meet a shadow. Even the brilliant spring day did nothing to dispel it. Link refused to look, defying the menace there. Ordon sighed again, this time wearily. The years had been unkind to him and travel aggravated old wounds.

“You should be resting,” Link said.

“You kept me up, prowling around my tent like a wolf.”

He hadn’t been able to help himself. Not long ago, setting foot in this place brought a swift, merciless death. The years spent eradicating the evil here would not be soon forgotten. Demon teeth crunched with the gravel under his boots.

“You need to change, my boy.”

Link hunched his shoulders. “I _hate_ wearing that.”

“It is the traditional ceremonial garb of the Champion of Ordona and you will present yourself appropriately.” Ordon’s stern words didn’t hide his amusement.

“It’s blue.”

“Matches your eyes.”

“And provides no camouflage or defense.”

“How is Baeark recovering from his ignominious defeat? Does he still vow to crush your skull between his thighs?”

Link bit back his retort. After a brief mental struggle, annoyed at Ordon’s knowing look, he bowed. “As you will, my lord.”

 The corners of Ordon’s eyes crinkled. “Good lad.”

Link bowed again, stiffly, and stalked off to his tent.

Inside was stuffy and growing hot under the sun. Link stripped out of his usual tunic, buff-colored to match the drab landscape around them. The Champion’s Tunic was lovingly wrapped in white linen. He shook out the folds and glared at it.

“Captain? The envoy has signaled!”

Indulging in the profanity he had restrained before his lord, Link pulled the blue garment over his head. “Assemble the guard!”

But it was with real reverence that he picked up his weapon. The Champion’s Tunic was symbolic, the brilliant azure dye difficult to produce, but nothing more. Men wore Ordon blue obi on feast days, woman tied ribbons of it into their hair to honor their Champion.

Link drew the blade a hands-breadth and examined his reflection in the steel of the Master Sword.

This made the Champion.

He buckled the baldric and belt securely, comforted by the weight of the weapon on his back. The power within the blade stirred, rousing from its slumber to touch Link’s thoughts.

_Champion._

Almost a sigh, the faintest whisper. Then it receded. He would never forget the first time it had murmured to him, acknowledged him. He dreaded a day when it did not.

“All is ready, Captain.”

Link shook his head to dispel his thoughts.

“Lord Ordon?”

“Awaits your pleasure, sir.”

The guards were waiting on horseback. Ordon grinned at his Champion.

“You wear the Blue well.”

Link mounted, stony-faced.

“Keep alert.”

Muffled chuckles escaped from his men. He rode next to Ordon, eyes busy on the landscape. Ordon’s fingers drummed on his legs.

There was no way to listen over the noise of the horses, but Link watched the shadows of the windswept bushes. The rise and fall of the land was deceptive. Hollows lay in every direction, an ideal place for an ambush to hide.

Soon, the foreign envoy could be seen. Their camp sat on a rise. A small party rode to meet the Ordonians in flat pan of earth.

The Hylian queen stopped her horse and examined them. The tension carried a hint of awkwardness. Not unexpected, when hereditary enemies met to parlay.

“Ordon,” she said finally.

“Hyrule. Well met.” Ordon spoke the Common tongue with ease.

“And thee.”

“May we…?” Ordon gestured as if to dismount.

“Please.”

Link shadowed his lord. His men carried forward a camp chair and arranged it for their king. Ordon waited while the queen was helped to the ground. Link evaluated her personal guard with professional interest. The man did the same.

_Longer reach…keep your distance, then strike when he is off balance. Favors his left._

The soldier’s hard face did not appear impressed by Link’s shorter build. Then his eyes found the distinctive hilt and cross-guard of the Master Sword over Link’s shoulder and paused. When the man met Link’s eyes again, he gave a slight nod of respect. Link returned the acknowledgement and breathed easier.

The rulers were in place. They sat looking over the desert, faces carefully neutral.

“How is your father?” Ordon asked.

“Weakening, but well. We hope for a few more seasons.”

They spoke of harvests and rainfall for several minutes. Then the queen spoke in a suddenly brisk voice. “Now, enough of this nonsense, Ordon.”

Ordon smiled with real amusement. “Agreed. What concessions are you prepared to offer?”

“Concessions?” she demanded. “As though you have not unlawfully occupied the Eblea Valley these past twenty years and more!”

Link stopped listening as they wrangled. The men relaxed as the morning passed. Link made a small hand motion. His lieutenant murmured to them and they renewed their vigilance.

“Captain?” Ordon beckoned him forward.

“Sir?”

“Report to the queen.”

The Shadow watched as Link spoke.

“The pass to Druynia has been blocked. Some refugees escaped before winter, speaking of a man, a sorcerer, taking control of the countryside. Demons and monsters roam freely in the hills west of the Watch.”

“You have proof?” she asked, eyeing him coolly.

“My own eyes.” He tried to keep the ends of his words from snapping off, but her condescension irritated him.

She sat silent for a long moment. Her guard leaned and said something in her ear. She nodded and turned to face them fully.

“I will be honest, Ordon. We cannot fight this menace. I have neither the military might nor the support of my people to engage directly with Druynia.” Her words were bleak. “The last war still weighs heavy on their hearts.”

Ordon spoke now as a father to a young daughter. For she was young, Link realized, younger than he had thought.

“Mine also do not wish for war. Peace has been fleeting over the generations for my people. But we sit on Druynia’s doors. Ordon will never relinquish our freedom. We would be the first to fight and the first to fall.”

Hyrule was hard to read, her face nearly expressionless as she considered. She turned to Link.

“You, soldier.”

The Sword hummed with his anger. Ordon’s eyes warned him silently, as if he didn’t know better than to rise to her deliberate taunt.

“Ma’am?”

“If your king, at this moment, commanded you to kill me, would you do it?”

Her guard spluttered indignantly. Link matched her challenging stare.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Ordon would never break his pledge.”

She smiled mirthlessly. “And if you deemed me a threat?”

“Without hesitation.”

Her guard gripped his own sword. She held up a hand, checking his motion to move between them.

Link didn’t know what she was looking for in his face. Her mouth relaxed, from a twist of bitterness to something genuine.

“I commend you, Ordon, on your choice of Champion.”

Ordon thanked her. “I can take no credit, however, as I have no say in the matter. But yes, Link serves Ordona well. As he will any who battle against darkness.”

She looked to the Shadow, then turned her back on it.  The Sword whispered warning, uneasy whenever Link thought of the darkness gathering.

“There will be those who say we should not fight,” Hyrule said. “I have spoken with representatives from Theica and Drex. They are reluctant to commit, preaching caution and discretion. There is word this sorcerer is a legitimate ruler.”

“Perhaps. This does not excuse his aggression.”

Link lost their conversation. A shadow moved across the sparse grass. Too swift for a cloud. No sizzle of magic.

_Above!_

Hyrule yelped as he kicked over her chair, sending her crashing into her guard’s arms. Link shoved Ordon to the ground and lifted his shield to catch the projectiles unleashed on them.

The steel rang like bells, the force of the impacts numbing his arm. The assailant swooped over and was past.

The men shouted, loosing arrows after the rapidly diminishing shape. Link dropped his shield and snatched a bow from the soldier next to him.

The sun glared into his eyes as he tried to track it. The fletching brushed his cheek. He aimed high and released.

“Did you hit it?” Ordon demanded, brushing himself off. Link squinted against the brilliant sky.

“Maybe a glancing blow. Phytos, Hent, see what you can find.” He yanked out the foot-long spike embedded in his shield. He could feel the razor edge even through his gloves. He passed it to Ordon, who fingered it gingerly. “ _Yrni_.”

“In these parts?” Ordon asked.

“Could be a solitary hunter.” He doubted it; he’d destroyed the last of their nests in the Pellisans last spring. Someone had sent it here from deep in the Kvirs where the remnants of the species took refuge.

Hyrule was dusting off her riding skirt.

“Well,” she said. “It appears my advisors are not the only one’s against a treaty between us.”

The alarm in the camp had to be calmed, scouts sent to reconnoiter the perimeter. Link waited impatiently for his men to return.

“ _Yrni,_ sir,” they confirmed. “Dead.”

Hyrule turned to him, eyebrows raised. “An excellent shot, Champion. I will forgive you your treatment of my person.”

No amount of training could stop Link’s sneer. She saw and laughed openly at him. Ordon pressed a firm hand into his shoulder. Link took a slow breath in and calm with it.

“My lord, we may be compromised. We need to leave.”

Ordon hesitated. Then he gave Hyrule a bow. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I regret I must end this discussion prematurely. May I contact you for further negotiations?”

Hyrule stared after the flight path of the attacker. Despite her youth, there were lines by her eyes. Her guard touched her arm, a clear plea to leave.

She returned the gesture, smiling up at him. He scowled. She turned to Ordon.

“Lord Ordon, may I accompany you?”

Ordon hid his shock well. “Into Ordon?”

“That is where you are going, correct? Unless you were using this as an opportunity to penetrate Hyrule while I was away from the palace?” Link kept his face carefully neutral, as he had suggested that very thing when they first received Hyrule’s missive. Ordon was a better man than him and refused such subterfuge.

“Will not your people grow concerned when you do not return?” Ordon asked.

“I am said to be at my summer house recuperating from a nasty croup,” Hyrule said. “I feel we have more to discuss. Or will you let an assassin end our peace talks?”

Ordon saw Link’s small head shake but chose to ignore his warning. “We would be honored by your company.”

“My lord-”

“Your Majesty-”

Link and the Hyrule guard spoke over each other, unable to keep their protests silent. Hyrule spoke firmly.

“That is all, Sheik.”

The man pressed his lips together. Link had a moment of sympathy for the soldier. Ordon adopted the fatherly tone Link resented with a fierce passion.

“Link, my boy, go fetch the horses.”

But if this Sheik could mind his tongue in front of his monarch, so could he.

“Yes, my lord.”

 

Zelda watched the boy Link stalk to the horses. For he was not much more than a boy, much younger than she envisioned the Champion to be. Sheik fumed silently next to her, scowling as Link led her horse close.

“Thank you, Champion,” he said stiffly, closing his hands on the reins. “I will assist Her Majesty.”

This Link said nothing, merely turned and went to get his master’s mount.

It took another half hour to get the cavalcade moving. Sheik fidgeted impatiently at every delay. He watched the sky and the horizon, eyes moving constantly.

Finally, they rode, Ordon and her at the center of a ring of soldiers, their personal guards at their sides. Under cover of Ordon chatting merrily with his men, Sheik leaned in to protest once more.

“This is insane,” he hissed. “You trust them?”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Zelda followed his gaze to where the Champion sat erect in his saddle.

“He holds the Master Sword.”

“I do not regard such bucolic nonsense, a fairy legend.”

Zelda disagreed. “Legends have solid roots.”

Sheik grunted. “It may be the true Master Sword, but that does not render him harmless.”

It was surprising to see such a fabled weapon in the hands of one so young. Ordon had been rumored to hold the Sword for generations, despite attempts by other monarchs to steal the divine power for themselves. If it was the true Sword…

Zelda chanced a look. Closing her eyes, she reached out. Sliding past the warmth of the others, the larger forms of the horses, she found the blade a cool slash in the heat of the day.

She brushed it, probing gently. A sharp flare and she was thrust back.

“Link, what is it?”

Zelda blinked to focus on him, head reeling from the strength of the mental blow.

The Champion sat alert, scanning the horizon. He gripped the hilt of the Master Sword, still in its sheath.

“There was…” he said slowly. Zelda tried to look innocent as he swept the group with his cold stare. His eyes paused on her, then moved on. “Nothing, my lord.”

But he increased the speed of the group. Zelda could see the subtle hand signals he gave. His men responded to the silent commands smoothly. Her soldiers pressed closer. Pairs of his men broke off and rode sweeps of the area as they crossed the last of the valley floor.

Ordon maintained his cheerful demeanor, but she saw him watch his Champion. Warily, but without fear. With trust, she realized. The king was looking to the youth for guidance.

The boy did not relax his vigilance until they crossed a narrow bridge in a cleft between two towering hills. The river below roared at them from the bottom of the canyon. Link drew up his horse and waited until the party had crossed.

“All clear, sir,” a man three times his age said, dipping his head respectfully.

Link raised a hand. Zelda peered in the direction he looked, up into the hills. Maybe a faint glint of light, perhaps from a telescope lens?

“Hurry up, Link, I’m starving!”

The Ordonians chuckled as Link smiled briefly at his king.

“Lead the way, my lord.”

 

To say the Ordonians were surprised was a gross understatement. The crowd that gathered cried welcome to their king, but quickly fell silent as Zelda accepted his hand to dismount.

Ordon pretended nothing was amiss. “Firn, prepare a room for Her Majesty.”

An aged woman bowed. “At once, my lord.”

Glad to escape the whispers, Zelda followed the crone into a house set beside a small stream. Her meager baggage was quickly unpacked and set out to air.

Sheik went over the small but cozy space inch by inch. Zelda left him to it and stood at the window. The shutters opened inward, revealing a view of the valley.

The King’s House lay at the head of the depression, snuggled up against the solid cliffs behind. Her guest house sat just below, with the other residences of the royal household completing the complex.

The city followed the twists of the valley floor, opening into the forest they had passed through after the bridge. Zelda knew above the cliffs were rolling fields, carefully tended with highland wheat and other grains. The cliffs themselves held gold and iron, as well as precious gems.

This country was small, but mighty, both in spirit and wealth. And Ordon spoke the truth: they would fight until they were overrun, fierce and valiant to the last man.

Speaking of whom…The Champion, distinctive in his brilliant blue tunic, walked up the wide stairs connecting the various dwellings to the King’s House. Zelda used the opportunity to study him closer with no fear of drawing his attention.

“Make no mistake,” Sheik said next to her. “He would not hesitate.”

Zelda smiled without humor. “I do not doubt it.”

The woman Firn cleared her throat. “Your Majesty, a meal awaits.”

Zelda followed her to the main house. Ordon stood and saluted her.

“Welcome and well met, Hyrule. Please sit.” Firn arranged her in a low, wide chair. She reached up as she passed Link and patted his cheek. The Champion’s quick smile warmed his eyes for an instant.

The meal was subdued. Ordon made small talk, but fatigue and wariness stilted the conversation. Sheik loomed protectively and Link responded by glowering all the more. Zelda bit the inside of her cheek to stop her giggles.

The next morning dawned misty and cool. Zelda lay in her bed and listened to the house-workers move about the complex. A chorus of bleats signaled the passing of a herd of sheep into their daily grazing grounds. The town below bustled. Much like her own city, shopkeepers hawked wares, carts ferried goods along cobbled streets.

But over it all hung the Shadow. A reverse sunrise, a diminishing of light rather than a promising glow. Zelda faced it boldly, refusing to be cowed.

Breakfast was served in the same room. The atmosphere had eased. The Champion became slightly more human, sitting cross legged at his lord’s feet and eating the savory rice pudding and eggs Firn brought him.

The Master Sword lay at his side. Zelda would give much to have it in her hands for an hour. The power she had probed yesterday was ancient and foreign. She dare not attempt to touch it again, not in such close quarters. The boy would know it was her for certain. She didn’t want to die before breakfast.

Ordon led her on a tour of his small city. Zelda looked with real interest. The people were well fed and happy. They greeted their king with unaffected pleasure.

Somewhat surprising was the equally enthusiastic welcome the people gave the dour Champion.

Dressed in a dull, sand colored tunic and breeches, he blended into the buildings around him. He ignored the salutations, which Zelda thought unpardonably rude until she saw Ordon’s wink and the boy’s blush.

She looked again and saw many of the well-wishers were young women. They waved blue ribbons as the horses passed. Link kept his face forward, cheeks red.

Ordon spoke his native tongue with a heavy accent, but Zelda thought he said, “Give them _some_ hope, lad.”

To which the bristling ‘lad’ replied, “Davin, dress your line.”

An officer Zelda assumed to be Davin directed his men to tighten their perimeter. The man saw her watching and his smile vanished.

After duly admiring the city and its people, Zelda was ready for a meal and more negotiations.

She had done her best to hide her feelings yesterday. Kept her carefully cool façade which hid her fear. Sheik knew, and her most trusted advisors, but few others, of the threat she received.

The afternoon wore away as Ordon’s councilmen and women went through the usual posing. It was oddly comforting to know bureaucracy plagued every ruler. Zelda listened politely.

Her eyes were drawn to the Champion again. To the power he held. Could the others not feel it, the force churning within him. Could he? Did he know what he wielded?

 

Link fought to keep awake. Servants lit the lamps as the early spring night closed around them. It was comfortably warm and Lady Ai’kish droned on and on about water taxes. Or was it fishing rights? Her speech had become so convoluted Link wasn’t sure _she_ knew what she was saying.

Her voice faded to a murmur.  Link stirred, surprised by the quiet. The room had gone still, muffled. Was he dreaming?

The Master Sword hummed. Ai’kish’s mouth was open, stopped mid-word. The flames in the lamps were still. A moth hung motionless next to the glass.

Link stood. He moved freely. His steps echoed on the plank floor. The blade of the Sword gleamed with its own light, casting pale beams into the shadows.

The air carried no scent of magic. Not one he knew, at least. He examined Hyrule a moment. Her hands lay on the table, her face frozen in the blank politeness Link knew well from his time serving in Ordon’s household.

He had felt something from her yesterday. A questioning brush on his thoughts. Ordon had not been surprised when Link reported it. The rulers of Hyrule often possessed such magic, he said.

Her guard stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest. Marks of war marred his skin, muscles toned from experience. Link knew he would win if they fought, but it would be a close thing.

He opened the doors to the balcony that ran around the house. The moon was just rising, a gibbous waning to new. What was this?

He was uneasy, the Sword warm in his hand. This must be magic, but whose?

The Shadow looked as it did in his dreams. Grasping at the stars, streaked with toxic light. It hung over his home, waiting for a moment of weakness.

The touch of the Goddess was there. The Sword’s keen power. The deep, ancient feel of the earth. And…

Link turned. A shadow moved on the wall. It writhed and broke free.

The Sword whistled, cleaving the air. Fetid blood burned his skin. The Sword flashed as he reversed his swing and drove the point home where its heart should be.

It grinned at him, chattering. Link silenced it by removing its head.

There was screaming. Link turned, his heel smearing blood into the wooden tabletop. The council members stared in horror at the creature still twitching on the floor.

Ordon gave orders in a loud, but calm voice. The room cleared quickly. Link could hear his Lieutenants raising the alarm. He left them to it.

  Hyrule stood by her chair. She examined the creature with cool detachment. Her guard attempted to mimic her, but the tendons in his wrists bulged where he gripped his swords.

“What is it?” she asked. Link realized she was speaking to him. He stepped off the low table and nudged the body over with his boot.

“ _Crytch_.” Not a clan he recognized, but no mistaking the claws and the stench.

She frowned. “Demon?” she translated. “But where did it come from?”

Link found a piece of cloth, a shawl abandoned in the panic, and wiped the foul spoor off the blade. He did not miss how her eyes followed his motion, gaze lingering on the Sword a moment.

Ordon was angry and trying to hide it.

“Your Majesty, my deepest apologies. Please know I would never have-”

Hyrule waved him to silence. “I know you would never consort with such as this.” She made a disgusted gesture in the direction of the body. “The question is, who would?”

 

Sheik’s fingers bit into her shoulder. She understood and held herself ready to flee. He ignored the demon’s carcass on the floor, his eyes on the Champion.

The snarl fixed on the demon’s lifeless maw was nothing to the hate that had raged in the Champion’s eyes as he slew the beast. They were calm again, a cold blue.

How had he moved so quickly? She had not seen him leap from where he sat at his master’s feet, half asleep in the twilight, to the table top.

She kept her barriers firmly up. The calm in him was a veil, hiding whatever power he possessed. Could he feel her magic? Who _was_ he?

Ordon was still apologizing. “We will have the city searched.”

“It won’t do any good,” Link countered. “It came out of a shadow.”

Ordon frowned. “‘Came out of a shadow?’”

Link put his hand against the wall, fingers splayed. “This shadow.”

Zelda lifted her skirts and stepped around the carcass. It was a blank stretch of wood planks. Painted a warm russet, it smelled of varnish and pine.

“What’s on the other side of this wall?” she asked.

“The terrace,” Link answered. “Visible from the guard tower.”

“So, it didn’t pass through the wall,” she mused. “It truly came from the shadow. But how…”

There was something under her fingers, like the tingle of a nettle sting. He was watching her. She ignored him and spoke a word of command.

A sigil gleamed, eating away the paint.

If she thought his face hard before, it was nothing to his expression now. He slashed across the mark with the Sword. A snap, almost, and a whiff of demon stench, and the light faded leaving an ugly burn.

“Who has access to this room?” she asked.

“Everyone in the household.” He turned to his king. “I will find who did this.”

Ordon spoke with surprising gentleness. “It is not your fault, Link.”

Zelda realized the sick feeling rolling off the Champion was shame.

“Until I do,” Link continued evenly. “I request you remain in the House under continual guard.”

Ordon tried to make a joke of it. “If I have any more guards, I won’t be able to sit down in my own chambers.”

Link bowed and walked out.

Zelda turned at Ordon’s sigh. Several Ordonian guardsmen hurried in and took their places around their king. He grabbed one’s sleeve.

“You stay with Link.”

The man hesitated. “My lord, the Captain gave me a direct order-”

“Keep him safe.”

The man nodded and left.

Zelda followed the king to his private chambers, herded along by at least a dozen swordsmen. Inside, they disposed themselves against the walls, by the windows and doors.

Zelda sighed. “I feel all diplomatic posturing is moot after this development.”

Ordon smiled tiredly at her. “My dear lady, I quite agree.”

She settled in a low chair. Sheik joined the other guards. They integrated him into their perimeter without complaint.

“Someone in your household wished to kill either you or me. Question is which?”

Ordon didn’t respond at once, merely looked at her for a moment. “Perhaps.”

 “It seems quite obvious to me.”

“Do you know any of the demon tongue?”

She grimaced. “Very little. Is there more than ‘eat’ or ‘kill?’”

“Thankfully, few know the cursed language in its entirety in this day and age.”

He was hedging, worried about something the sigil meant. Or perhaps…

“Did the creature speak before the Champion slew it?” she demanded.

Ordon glanced at his guards. “I do not think it was an assassin. Rather a messenger.”

“From whom?”

“More importantly, _for_ whom?”

He knew, Zelda realized. Why, then, did he not say? His eyes went to the guards again and he shifted in his chair.

A knock forestalled her next question.

“My lord? Captain Gotkasi has cleared the House. The Queen may return to her rooms. Surely she will be more comfortable there until the search is completed.”

Which was a polite way of telling her to stay away from his king and out of his business. Zelda thanked the hapless subordinate coldly, who withdrew with comical haste.

“‘Goat herder?’” she guessed. Her Ordonian didn’t cover the more bucolic trades.

“The Champion? Yes.”

“His family trade?” Unusual to find such a swordsman among menial laborers.

Ordon didn’t answer at once. Then, “Link has no family. He was a slave, an indentured servant, if you like, along your southeastern coast. We think his owners were killed by raiders when he was young, maybe six or seven summers. Some of our herdsmen found him wandering in the waste between the sea and the hills. Doesn’t remember much of what happened, which is probably for the best, given the…damage.”

Without waiting for her reply, he stood. “Shall I send a meal to your room? I am sure my council members could use some reassurance.”

She went, mulling over his words. He had told her something. She just needed to figure out what.

 

Goddess Touched or no, Link was tired. The sun was just rising again as he climbed the steps to the King’s House. Davin followed doggedly, no doubt under command to stay by him.

“You’ll be resting now, sir?” his lieutenant hinted, half hopeful, half pleading.

“Wake me mid-morning,” Link ordered. “And keep the detail on Ordon.”

“Yes, sir.”

No matter how his bed called to him, Link went to his wide desk and rolled out his map of the city. Each borough was skillfully drawn in black ink, tiny glyphs marking families and trades.

He’d walked every street, it felt like. Feeling his way more than seeing. Searching for some magic, some taint akin to the demon mark.

Nothing.

Frustrated, he shoved the thick paper away. He unbuckled his belt and baldric, dropping the Sword onto his bed.

“Some help you are,” he told it. It hummed reproachfully.

He rotated his shoulders, working out the knots. Old injuries complained in the damp weather.

Footsteps by his door made him pause; he didn’t recognize them. A quick jump, a scramble into the rafters, and he peered through a tiny slit in the wall.

Hyrule and her guard.

None of _her_ magic, either. He recognized it, now, after her subtle probes. Her skirts brushed the steps as she went into the Queen’s House. Appropriate, as no native queen would reside there during this Ordon’s rule.

Had the man reconsidered marrying her? Link climbed down and sat to remove his boots. Ordon’s decision to reach out to Hyrule had been strongly opposed by every council member, a marriage proposal vetoed out of hand. It was an obvious solution to their problem, though Link knew Ordon would come out the worse of such a union. Hyrule would gain a consort rather than Ordon gaining a queen.

Would she accept? She was still young, but Link doubted she was the romantic type. She wanted to Master Sword and its Champion, that he knew. Question was: how badly? Enough to marry a man three times her age?

Would she get them? Would he serve her, if Ordon commanded it?

His loyalty to Ordon lived uneasily with his oath to the Goddess. It always did and he was grateful he could fulfill both obligations. But Ordon would not reign forever. To whom did owe his allegiance, then?

_Sleep._

Link settled on the bed, arms behind his head.

_Sleep, Link._

 

It was the same dreaming place. Link stood at his window and looked over the city. Ripples moved through the air, faint echoes of sound. The citizens hurrying about their tasks.

As before, he could move freely. The door felt muffled, distant somehow, but he could open it.

Hantor stood outside his door, leaning against the wall. Davin must have gone to bed. House workers littered the stairs and rooms.

Ordon sat in the council room. The wall had been scrubbed. The slash from the blade scored deep into the fibers of the wood. Where was Hyrule?

Her door resisted opening. A mark gleamed at his touch. A ward of some sort, protection against intrusion. From demons? Or him?

“Captain?”

Link drew a deep breath, coming awake. He was in his bed still. Groaning, he pushed away from the mattress.

Hantor knocked. “Captain Gotkasi?”

“Yes?”

“Midmorning, sir.”

Being back in the hills herding goats sounded more and more appealing.

He made his report to Ordon.

“I am not surprised,” the man said. “Thank you, Link.”

He settled in his usual place.  A bit archaic, but more comfortable than standing stiff at attention all day.

He glanced over the Hylian guard, standing beside his queen’s cushion. Link had not seen the man sit, except for riding horseback. His knees must be killing him.

But he was different. Link frowned, reassessing. Hands resting on hilts, not holding. Leaning back, shoulders relaxed. Hyrule sat next to Ordon, not across the room as protocol dictated.

Ordon broke off mid-sentence. “Link?”

He had surged to his feet, but he wasn’t sure why. The room held tense and still, thinking he had seen something. He tried to keep his voice calm.

“My lord…” How much Ordonian did she know? He regressed to the rough hill dialect his tutor had tried to cane out of him. “What did she tell you?”

Ordon took a moment to translate. “What do you mean?”

“You said there was to be no agreement.” He wouldn’t make such a decision without talking to him, would he? Link knew he had failed his king, but to not tell him!

Ordon was soothing. “As is well, lad.”

They had come some understanding. He should not have let them be alone.

“Sit, Link. You’re alarming the council.”

Damn the council and damn Hyrule for interfering. But he did as he was commanded.

 He always did.


	2. The Silent Swords

**Chapter Two: The Silent Swords**

If Zelda had thought the Champion hostile before, she discovered she had grossly underestimated the depths of his dislike. Even Sheik commented on it. The man stared after Link’s retreating back with a thoughtful frown.

“Prickly as a Gerudo toad?” Zelda suggested.

“Nor like,” Sheik drawled.  He caught himself and answered more formally. “What did you say to him?”

She hadn’t spoken with the Champion since the demon attack. In fact, she had not had an actual conversation with him at all. A few exchanges, some civilities, if they could be called that.

Sheik jogged to keep up.

“Captain? Captain Gotkasi!”

He turned, face perfectly blank. She recognized the expression from her life in court and knew he must be seething.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

He had to have some personality behind his stiff manners. Careful questions to the staff and guards showed he was well-liked, genuinely respected by the Ordonians.

What should she say? How to draw him out?

“I did not thank you, sir, for saving my life yet again.”

“My pleasure.”

Hardly. He was half-turned to go. She planted herself firmly by his side. “If I may be so bold, where are you heading?”

“The temple.”

The stone building rose across the valley, a warm red-brown against the fields.

“May I accompany you?”

He wanted to brush her off. But his eyes flicked to the King’s House and he gave a half bow. “As you will.”

They attracted curious looks as they crossed the main plaza. Link greeted his soldiers as he passed. Townsfolk waved. A baker proffered him a steaming roll, another a meat pie. Offers for a drink or meal followed them through the city.

They seemed unconcerned when he politely declined.

“Next time, my lad!”

“Always have a warm plate for you!”

“Are you sure? They’re your favorite!”

“Link!”

This hail did cause the Champion to slow and turn.

“Link, wait up!”

It was a boy. He ran up the narrow street, dodging sellers, dogs, and crates. He arrived flushed and grinning.

The most cold-hearted person would have relented under a gaze half as adoring as this boy’s. The Champion ruffled the child’s hair.

“Why aren’t you in school, Enon?”

Enon shrugged. “I put a lizard in the water pail.”

Link’s laugh was boyish. “Did you get caned?”

“Only a little. Not as much as when I...” Enon absorbed Zelda’s presence. His eyes went round and he dropped a bow. “Your Majesty, my apologies. I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t know you were on duty.”

“I’m not, but run along,” the Champion commanded.

Enon clearly wanted to rebel but could only acquiesce meekly given the circumstances. Link patted his shoulder and sent him off.

Zelda watched him go, bemused. “Is that the direction of the schoolhouse?”

Laughter still danced in his voice. “Of course not.” He met her eyes and his amusement faded. “Shall we?”

“Who was that?” She was determined to make him talk.

“Enon is Ordon’s nephew.”

“The Heir is allowed to scamper about the streets?”

Link seemed confused. “Why wouldn’t he?”

There was no way to explain the old longing, the endless hours spent looking out glazed windows at the servants’ children playing in a back courtyard.

“And he is not Ordon’s heir. There isn’t one.”

But they had spoken of it this morning. ‘My heir,’ the man had said. “How else then will he ensure his dynasty?”

Link glanced at her. “He would need to marry first.”

“Does Ordon have plans to?”

Another searching look. “Not that he has told me. But then, I am not privy to all his decisions.”

Zelda doubted that. The Champion clearly held significant political power, as well as his king’s ear. Did he realize how much? If Link decided to end this treaty, Zelda suspected she would be dumped over the border without a second thought. Without her soldiers, too.

The looming temple arch hushed her questions. Link stopped at the lowest step and knelt a moment. As he stood, a young woman approached.

“Champion,” she greeted.

Link unslung his shield. She cradled it like a large dish. In it he placed weapons he retrieved from various hiding places about his person. He tossed the last, a slim knife from his boot, onto the pile.

The Master Sword stayed strapped in its place.

Sheik copied him without complaint. The woman thanked them both and turned to Zelda. She hated to but obeyed the restriction. Just two daggers, a matching set carefully concealed in her skirts.

“Welcome, Hyrule.”

 

Unlike the cathedral to Hylia in her castle grounds, Ordona’s temple was almost cozy.

Built of warm redstone and moderate in size, the braziers warmed the room easily. Acolytes sat on benches or walked slowly about in pairs.

A priestess stood as they crossed the threshold.

“Gotkasi, Wielder of the Sword, I welcome you.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. She followed the salute with a kiss on each cheek.

She then spoke in the same dialect Link had used this morning in the council room. The rise and fall of it was faintly musical.

 _“Ai, ta,_ ” he said, smiling down at the tiny woman.

She sniffed and turned to Zelda.

“Hyrule. Ordona is pleased by your presence. Too long have the Sisters been divided.”

Staccato clicks announced a newcomer.

“Harro!” An old man shuffled across the floor, cane tapping as he moved with surprising speed. “Harro, child, is that Link?”

“Yes, papa.”

Eyes filmed with age, the old man peered at them. “And the young queen! Excellent. Come, Ordona awaits you, my children. She is pleased with this union.”

For all his control, Zelda was learning to read his face. A flash of alarm and a swift look to Harro. She was smiling benignly, unaware of whatever had startled the Champion.

A smaller room off the main chamber. The old priest drew the curtain across the opening. Zelda took the seat Harro proffered. The Champion refused with a curt head shake. His mouth was still tight. Worried? About what?

The old man blinked myopically at her. “Unexpected, this visit.”

“Unprecedented, as well,” Zelda agreed. The man grinned.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cantor. I serve Ordona as First Priest. Or as well as I can in my infirmity. My granddaughter Harro serves as First Priestess.”

Zelda dipped her head respectfully. “An honor, sir.” He must be ancient, as his granddaughter had gray streaking her auburn hair.

Cantor settled in the wide, low chair customary to Ordon.  Zelda always felt her knees were jabbing her chest, as she refused to sit cross-legged as Cantor was. She managed to tuck her limbs up demurely most times. She hoped.

Link folded his arms across his chest. “Did you find anything?”

Cantor sighed. “No. Not a trace. No clue as to where it came from or why it was sent.”

“That… _crytch?”_ Zelda asked. It was an ugly word, catching in her throat.

“ _Ta_ ,” Link said absently, frowning at the Priest.

“Bokoblin, in the old tongue,” Cantor explained. “We haven’t had a sighting on Ordonian soil in several years. The Champion saw to that.”

Said Champion was still roiling, angry and ashamed. “It shouldn’t have been able to get in. I placed…” He broke off, remembering her presence. “There are wards. Someone gave it entry.”

Did he suspect her? If Ordon had come to Hyrule and such a thing happened, she might have had them summarily executed. Luckily, Ordon was not as ruthless.

Harro showed him examples of similar glyphs out of a yellowed book. Zelda watched him as he turned the pages, tracing symbols with a tanned finger. He tapped one and asked for a second book to compare. A warrior and a scholar, then?

 _My heir_ , Ordon had said, but no children of his own. He must intend for this shepherd boy to follow after him. Why else educate him, take him into his confidence? Why give him such power and command over the military?

Ordon may not choose the Champion, but this Cantor likely had a say. Hoping Link was distracted by his research, Zelda reached out for the old man’s presence. Did he have the Touch of a Goddess, too?

Cantor’s faded gaze met hers and he smiled. Old, yes, but still deep power. Strengthened by time and experience, much stronger than hers.

_Well met, Hyrule._

Zelda acknowledged his greeting meekly and retreated. After she blinked away the Sight, she found Link watching her. For once, he didn’t look away. His mistrust was clear to read, even without reaching out to him.

He looked suddenly to Cantor. Zelda caught the faintest echo of their exchange, amusement on one side and incredulity on the other.

He had brought her here on purpose, so this Cantor could examine her!

Cheeks flaming, she stood. They broke off their discussion.

“I admit I am no scholar,” she lied through a tight smile. “I will return to the House and leave you to it. A pleasure, Lord Cantor.”

“And you, lady.”

Sheik was confused. “What happened?” he asked as she stormed down the steps.

“Blasted shepherd!”

“What did he say to you?”

“Him? Nothing!”

The trek back to the residence abated little of her fury. He had manipulated her, played on her determination to be friendly.

Her conscience murmured reproachfully. Well, if not friendly, then at least civil. And she had a right a -civic duty! - to know more about the most dangerous man south of the Hebran Mountains.

That Ordonian woman, Firn, was waiting in the guest house.

“My lady, if you please, I have prepared a milk bath for you.”

“A what?” Zelda snapped.

Firn gestured to the corner where a screen had been erected. “A milk bath, my lady. Surely you will not leave Ordon without enjoying such a luxury!”

Zelda made a rude noise through her nose. A backwater, half-savage place like Ordon had ‘luxuries?’ Their heir-apparent ate on the floor and needed a haircut!

Firn was perplexed. “Your Majesty?”

Sheik was laughing at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled up. Heat flamed her face and only increased her fury.

She spoke as gently as she could. “Thank you, Firn. But may I ask: what in Hylia’s name is a milk bath?”

It was the most wonderful thing. After soaking in a copper tub of scented water made silky smooth with goats’ milk, the angel, nay, the very goddess named Firn scrubbed her down with soft toweling and massaged her until her bones melted.

The old woman’s light chatter was as soothing as her hands working the tense points along Zelda’s spine.

“Been many years since I served a lady of the house. Ordon, bless him, will never marry, of course. Even for duty’s sake, which I am not surprised. After Gregin was killed so many winters ago, fighting the _crytch_ , there was no replacing him. And Ordon is such a caring, generous man. It tortures him to send Link out to the same task. He loves the boy so dearly, as his own child. Link, of course, never gives it a second thought. Impulsive to a fault he was -and is! - always jumping before looking. Praise the Goddess; She always brings him home safe.

“Maybe I’ll have the chance to serve a mistress again, when our Link settles down.” She sighed. “Not likely, though. The boy has an eye for nothing but the fight. As is right for our Champion, of course, but an old woman does hope. And such a husband he would be! So handsome, so kind, any woman would be lucky to catch him. Always has been such a dear. He was just the sweetest thing when he came to us, so quiet and willing to please. It still hurts to know why, poor lamb. He never talks about it. Cantor, bless him, says the memories are muddled. A mercy, I suppose, given what happened, but I know he feels the loss. Never knowing your roots, wondering why you were left to suffer.

“Now, a special oil, my lady. Perfumed with the _azual_ flower. Very rare, cultivating the blooms takes decades. Usually reserved for a lady on her bridal night. Seeing as no noble lady will use this batch, might as well put it to good use! Tradition, you know, the milk bath, after the ceremony, before the wedding night to wash off the blessing dye. Have you seen an Ordonian wedding, lady? Well, believe me it is a necessary custom, or we’d ruin every linen in the kingdom.

“Now, a true bridal bath is to take place outside. Of course, there is some nonsense about being bare before the Goddess, as if She did not already know our hearts.

“In truth, it is because _besum_ dye is impossible to scrub out of wood floors. Why is this an issue? Well, let’s just say, that Ordonian men are not known for their patience when eager to greet their new bride.”

Zelda giggled, relaxed to the point of stupor. The scent of the _azual_ was heavenly, clean and sweet. She listened to Firn move about the room, wondering what else was mixed into the magical bath water. Her thoughts seemed to float hazily above where her body lay warm and sated on the bed.

“It takes a thousand blooms to make batch. Each flower opens only once for a short time in spring. _Azual_ was traded for diamonds, but now we keep it in our borders. So much of its habitat has been ruined, we can hardly supply ourselves. Once Link destroys the Shadow, we will be able to venture further out to find the bulbs again.”

She spoke with absolute certainty that the Champion would end the threat to Ordon. And why should she doubt? He had the Sword, the favor of a Goddess. All he needed was a piece of the Triforce and he would be unstoppable.

“Rest now, my dear.”

Zelda murmured sleepily. Firn tucked her under the blankets and went out quietly.

 

Link glared at Firn. His old nanny beamed back.

“You _drugged_ Hyrule,” he grated out.

“ _Morsopha_ is a traditional ingredient in the milk bath,” she said calmly. “Relaxes the muscles, promotes healthy humors.”

Only his love of the woman kept retort behind his teeth. And the memory of her switch to his rear end. No doubt she would take him to task even now, no matter he towered over her.

“Did you tell Ordon you were doing this?” he demanded when he could speak rationally.

Firn blinked innocently at him. “As if I would tell a strange man such a thing about a lady’s toilet!”

“You’re telling _me_.”

Firn’s shrug was the sum of decades of managing her royal employers. “Yes?”

Luckily, Ordon walked in.

“Ah, Link! Did Cantor find anything?”

Grateful for an excuse to not talk about Hyrule’s personal hygiene, Link laid out the papers he held.

“It was close to a summoning glyph. More a passageway, perhaps, a connection.”

“Connection to where?”

“I couldn’t tell,” Link said. He’d tried to recreate the moment, the details confused by the dream state. “But there was something on the other side.”

Ordon removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “I cannot think one of my own people would betray us so.”

Link was not so generous. “I will find out who.”

“You will bring them to me alive.” Ordon’s voice held no option for otherwise.

“I will try.”

 

The evening dragged on. Endless reports, questioning his soldiers, searching for some clue in Cantor’s texts.

Link leaned against the railing of the terrace and watched the sun set behind the hills cradling the city. The clouds had thinned, leaving streaks that tinted pink and purple against the darker blue of the sky.

What was he missing? There had to be some trace, some taint of evil magic.

The bells sounded for nightfall. He straightened and made to return to the King’s House.

On the planks before him, a line appeared. He drew back, watching as the line grew longer, twisting. It scrawled across the wood, cutting a mark into the floor.

He wanted to call out, but the air had grown stiff. It was an effort to raise his arm and grip the Sword. A flash of light and the mark gleamed in the twilight.

A man stepped through. He saw Link and grinned.

“The boy Champion.”

The blade glowed faintly. “Who are you?”

“But where is the girl?” The man peered around. “Ah, I see.”

Link moved to intercept. The man was suddenly behind him, walking down the steps. “I have a message for her.”

The air still resisted him as he ran, the man always flickering ahead. The guards were paralyzed, straining against the magic. Link’s calls for help went unheeded.

The door was stuck. The heavy panels shuddered under his assault. The same demon light shone in the lock, sealing him out.

He drove the Sword into the latch with a grunt. The flash of the magic breaking burned his face. The frame splintered as he kicked the lock free.

The man, the sorcerer, stood over Hyrule as she slept. The delicate _azual_ soured with the stink of demons.

“So lovely, the young queen,” he crooned. He brushed her hair back from her flushed cheek.

The air shrieked as the Sword ripped through it. The sorcerer’s smile was cold, possessive.

“You cannot deny your birthright, Link.”

He was gone.

Time released. Link stumbled forward. The Sword quivered, biting deep into the wall. He shook Hyrule’s shoulder, calling her name urgently.

“Zelda! Zelda, wake up!”

She blinked groggily at him. “Link?”

“Your Majesty!” Sheik ran in, blades drawn.

The queen sat up, clutching the bed clothes to her chin. “What is the meaning of this?”

Link drew back, snatching his hand from her arm. A black mark marred her forehead.

“What’s happened?” She looked between them, alarm replacing her anger.

Sheik was pale. “Zelda, your face…”

There was a hand mirror next to her bed. She took it and peered into it. Her gasp was half a sob.

Frantically, she rubbed it. It smeared black on her fingers. Link wetted some toweling and washed the streaks from her face.

“What was it?”

Her voice shook. “A warning.”

“From?”

“The Shadow.”

 

“Four moons past, a man appeared in my study.”

The queen sat with her knees drawn up under her skirts. Another search of the city was underway, but Link knew now it was pointless.

“A sorcerer, _the_ sorcerer you have heard tell of from your refugees. He offered an alliance, a marriage.”

She grimaced. “Of course, I refused. He laughed. Said I would join with him in the end, that I would see there was no other way. Warned that my people would suffer if I did not. I called my guards, but he simply vanished as he came.”

Link then described what he had seen. He did not tell of the cryptic message about his birth.

“And the mark?” Ordon asked.

The soft candlelight only highlighted the shadows under her eyes.

“In the Easyren Province, woman mark their foreheads like that on their wedding day.” She scrubbed at the spot, as if she could still feel the sooty ink on her skin.

“Arrogant pig, isn’t he?” Ordon said. “Clearly he has not met a woman of your mettle, Your Majesty.”

Her pitiful attempt at a smile enraged Link more than seeing the beast loom over her as she slept. Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirt.

“I should return to Hyrule,” she said. “My presence seems to have brought you nothing but trouble.”

Ordon took her hands in his. “My dear, you have been a delight. I am sorry that we needed such dire portents to come to an understanding. I have been thinking about how to strengthen our friendship. I have a proposal for you, one I hope will protect you as well as give you courage.”

Link braced himself for the news. It was necessary, for the best for all of Ordon. He could serve his lord in Hyrule as he could here. His oath to Ordona would be fulfilled, her people protected.

“I want Link to go with you.”

“ _What?”_

“The…the Champion?”

“Is there another man named Link I don’t know about?”

“No!” Link snapped. A hollow feeling stabbed into him, as if the earth had given way beneath his feet. “My lord, I – no!”

“My magistrates would not allow it.” Zelda said flatly.

“They need not know who he is.”

“My place is here; my oath is to Ordona.”

“Does Hylia not need a Champion in this time of peril?”

“Did She speak to you?” Link demanded.

“No, but the situation-”

“The situation demands I do all I can to protect my home and my people. We stand at the brink of invasion, of outright war.”

“From which the soldiers you have trained will protect us.”

Link knew well the set of his lord’s mouth. There would be no argument, no persuasion.

“Are you _ordering_ me to go?”

“Link,” Ordon said reproachfully.

He walked out.

 

The controlled closing of the door was as expressive as him slamming it. Ordon winced. Zelda cleared her throat in the awkward silence.

“Truly, I would not steal him from you. He is needed here.”

Ordon had stood, perhaps to follow the Captain. He sat heavily.

“I had hoped to break it to him differently. But he needs to go.” He sighed. “Link…Link is destined for greater things, Your Majesty. Greater than either of us.”

Zelda felt suddenly small and afraid. Ordon’s voice carried the weight of prophecy.

“When he came to us, I thought there was no salvaging his spirit. Half feral, he was more animal than not. There was no other way to survive, I suppose.

“The shepherds who found him took him in and did their best. He stayed with them through the winter and spring.

“But his injuries, both physical and mental, needed more than food and shelter to heal. He had been blinded in one eye. So thin, scarred from beatings. Half-healed bones. He limped terribly.

“I suppose I knew then he would be something more. The flocks had been driven down for market. The Gotkasi clan brought him to ask for help from a healer. I had gone to meet with them when Cantor arrived, asking for the boy.

“‘Where is he?’ he asked. ‘Where is Link?’ I don’t remember now what the Gotkasi had named him, and obviously we had no idea who Cantor meant until Link came across the pasture and stood by Cantor as if he had been destined to do so since the dawn of time.

“He stayed with the priests for a year before Cantor brought him to me and insisted he join the household. How could I refuse a request from the Goddess?

“I admit I was trepidatious. The Gotkasi warned he had been difficult to control, unpredictable and violent at times. The child had nearly killed an adult man who taunted him.

“The change in him was nothing short of a miracle. His spirit was alive again, he was healthy and strong. Many of his scars had been healed, his eye, his legs.”

Ordon came back from the memories of past years. “But I warn you, Your Majesty, that there is still something of that feral child in him. He can stubborn and reckless.”

Zelda pressed his hand. “And here was Firn just singing his praises. She assured me he was the most tender, tractable boy.”

Ordon smiled in memory. “He was. One couldn’t help but love him. I…” His voice thickened. “I will miss him, but he must go. I wanted him to follow me. I hoped…but I always knew. When Cantor spoke the prophecy to us, I knew he would leave eventually. I dreaded it, but I am glad he will go with you.”

Zelda was also trepidatious. “He is dangerous.”

“Very,” Ordon agreed. “But only to his enemies.”

“Of which I number.”

“No. You can trust him with your life.”

She would be, riding back to Hyrule with him. “He may refuse.”

“He won’t.” Link’s loyalty seemed to bring Ordon no pleasure. “He won’t.”

 

The tightly woven thatch poked through his tunic, itching his skin. Link lay on the roof of the King’s House, looking at the half-hidden stars and listening.

The queen bid Ordon goodnight and left. Her steps faded into the normal night sounds of the residence. Ordon sat for a long while, then made his way to his private chambers.

It was a short leap from the peak of the roof to the cliff behind. The darkness shrouded the stone, but Link knew the path well, had scaled this edifice hundreds of times.

He also knew the pattern of the sentries posted above the King’s House. There was no gap in their sweep; he had designed it carefully. Would She shield him tonight? Fury, fear, heartache all seethed in his chest. Cantor’s voice scolded him, lessons from long ago.

_The Champion of Ordona cannot be ruled by fear. The Sacred Power to which you are destined needs a calm mind and soul._

Link drew a deep breath of the cool night air. His thoughts stilled. He stepped out boldly.

It felt like a betrayal of his vigilant and dedicated soldiers. He waited in a shadow as one of them passed on their round. Their eyes slid over him. What did they see? A shimmer of the air? A darker shade?

Dew clung to his boots, the warmth of the day not lasting long past sundown. It never grew truly warm here until high summer. The only enjoyable thing about the barren plains below was the heat.

A fox startled as Link slipped by. The trees grew thicker and the terrain rough. He had to slow his pace, scrambling over rocks. The exertion felt good, something to fight, to focus his restless energy on.

It looked like any other cave hidden under a rockfall. Link glanced to the moon, hovering in the eastern sky. Tucking his legs up, he sat on fallen tree and watched the moonlight drift across the clearing.

It was similar to the dream place, now that he thought about it. The same sense of separation, of waiting. The moonlight fell over the mouth of the cave.

The Master stepped out of the shadows. Link stood and was not surprised by the reprimand.

“You present yourself in such a state? Will you never learn control?”

Link stayed silent. Excuses were useless. The form sighed and beckoned him.

Through the cave and out into an echoing room. Pillars reached toward the unseen roof. There might not even be one, the columns holding up the night sky itself.

“Longsword tonight? Though Hylians favor the spear.”

Link made no move to ready for the arena. The Master examined him.

“I told you this day would come.”

Link’s throat tightened.

“If you want guidance, pray to your Goddess. I serve a different purpose.”

“Was it like this, when you left your home?”

There was no face in the helm, no emotion inflecting the voice. “Yes.”

“Did you ever return?”

The Master turned away, testing the weight of his sword. “I did. But I did not stay.”

“Why?”

“It was my home no longer.”

Link clenched his fists, eyes closed, trying to deny it.

The hand was heavy on his shoulder. Then, “Ready yourself, Champion.”

 

He woke in his bed with the morning bells. He groaned as the aches and bruises he earned during the moonlight session seized his muscles. A moment and they faded to memory.

Both Ordon and Hyrule cast him searching looks which they tried to hide. Firn brought him a heaping bowl and fussed over him. He could hardly swallow for homesickness.

At last the meal was over and Link could put a stop to the inane small talk. He unrolled a map on the table in the center of the room.

“Where is your summer estate?”

Hyrule pointed a few miles east of one of her outlying villages. Not much there besides farms and a minor trade town. They would have to skirt the plains. Too risky to be in the open with such limited numbers. Link did a quick measurement with his hand.

“Two hundred miles, five days riding. We cannot take your other soldiers, too slow. No sign of you for eight days. Will this raise alarm?”

“My soldiers will have ensured I have been ‘seen’ traveling to Highcalere. I will simply emerge and return home.”

“And with an Ordonian soldier?”

She tried to be friendly, joking with him. “We’ll say you’re Sheik’s nephew, come to join the Royal Guard.”

He did not smile and had the bitter satisfaction of watching her mirth wilt. “When do you want to leave?”

“At once, if Ordon allows it.”

His lord watched them over steepled fingers. “All will be made ready, my dear. Link, Cantor asked to see you as soon as you were available.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

Zelda turned to Ordon with raised brows. The man winced. “He’ll come around,” he promised.

“When the sky falls into the sea?”

 

Cantor unknowingly echoed the Master. Or perhaps he knew what Link did when the moon was in the heavens, knew how that silent grove called to him.

“You knew this day would come. It has been foretold.”

Link unclenched his teeth to reply. “I know.”

“It is your destiny to travel beyond Ordon. This was a cradle, a training ground. You are made for much more.”

But what? “I swore an oath Ordona.”

It burned across his vision, the need to protect this land and its people. Yet another force impelling him forward, demanding his obedience. Did he regret it?

“You will serve your purpose as She directs.”

At least Her reprimands were gentle, cajoling. They didn’t leave bruises that prompted difficult questions from his liege lord.

“Why does She require that I serve this Hylian queen?”

“The conflict between us is petty and dangerous. It leaves both countries vulnerable to attack from worse than raiders and pirates. Hyrule did well to come here. Now, you must return the gesture in kind.”

“Hyrule is a queen. I am a soldier. Hardly impressive in diplomatic circles.”

“You are a wool-headed buffoon, Link. Are you not Master of the Sword of Light? Are you not a prince in the House of Ordon?”

Neither of these titles sat easily on his head. “According to Hyrule, I am to be the nephew of her guard.”

Cantor snorted rudely. “Fools, the pair of you.”

Link hesitated. “Cantor, the sorcerer spoke to me.”

Even cloudy, the priest’s eyes could be piercing. “What did he say?”

“He knew me by name. He spoke of my birthright. That I cannot deny my birthright.”

Cantor tapped his crooked fingers on the table. “Your destiny to wield the Master Sword, perhaps.”

“But I do not deny it.” Even if some days he wanted to, warring with the terror that the Goddess will find him lacking and strip him of Her blessing. What would happen to him, to his mind? He could just remember the pain and hopelessness.  The memories were muted because She shielded them.

Yet another shackle he both resented and relied upon.

“You cannot trust anything that beast tells you. He will say what he needs to undermine your resolve, to cause contention between you and the queen.”

Link had begun to ask something and stuttered to a halt. Prince of the House, contention with the queen, Ordon reaching out to Hyrule at this time and not before. “Wait, you want _me_ to marry _Hyrule_?”

 “Why, you thought Ordon would?”

“But-”

“If there is a woman here, of course other measures can be arranged.”

“But-”

“I am certain Hyrule has considered it. Perhaps even intends for such an outcome to this treaty.”

Link stood speechless. Cantor’s chuckle was kind.

“Come now, Link! Ordona demands no oath of celibacy.”

Link flushed hotly. “Obviously!” he snapped.

Cantor laughed. “Would it be so terrible? She is considered quite lovely.”

“That’s not the point! Why didn’t you tell me, that you and Ordon planned this?”

“We didn’t. At least, not explicitly. However, it is an option to be considered.”

Link knew with vibrating fury that Ordon already had baby names picked out.

Cantor chided him. “A calm mind, my child. Essential to controlling your power.”

His ‘power’ wanted to break something. He tamped it down and prayed desperately for control. She was laughing at him, too, but kindly. She soothed him and the anger and embarrassment ran from him like snowmelt.

“If we are finished, I need to ready for the journey.”

Cantor nodded approvingly. “Well done. You have much to learn still, but I can only teach you so much here. Go, be courageous, and you will find your way.”

Now that he could See Cantor, he realized the sorrow behind the quiet words. Link went to him and knelt before the man’s chair. His mentor, a guide, almost a father.

“Thank you, Cantor. I can never repay you.”

“You already have, my boy. I am proud of you, of what you have accomplished. Remember this: destiny may be written, but you make the choice. _You_ control the Master Sword. _You_ carry the blessing of the Goddess. No one can take these from you.”

Cantor stood painfully. Link embraced him, tears itching his eyes.

“Come home to us, lad.”

Link nodded, unable to speak. The Master’s words stuck in his throat.

_This is my home no longer._

 

Zelda hoped her worry did not show as she waited for the Champion. Sheik stood at her stirrup, ready to boost her into the saddle. The young man and Ordon stood some ways away, speaking in low voices.

Ordon gripped Link’s shoulders, eyes searching his face anxiously. Link smiled and Ordon embraced him.

Zelda fussed with the set of her cuffs. A few minutes later, the Champion’s boots crunched over the gravel.

“Are you ready, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Champion.”

But his people would not let him go so easily. His lieutenants came to say good-bye, with much handshaking and back thumping. Firn brought him a cloth wrapped bundle. He peered between the folds.

“To remember who you are,” she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He kissed her forehead and tucked the package away in a saddle bag.

Enon was indignant. “You promised to teach me to shoot from horseback,” he accused. His lip trembled.

Link squatted down to be eye-to-eye with the boy. “I have to do this, Enon. But I will come home when my task is complete. Do you understand?”

Enon nodded, mouth twisted to stop his tears.

“I need you to look after Ordon while I’m gone. Go to your lessons, attend your teachers.” Link smiled at the rebellious scowl on Enon’s brow. “Davin is to start your training.”

Enon opened his eyes wide. “But I am not ten until next harvest!”

“Ordon and I feel you’re ready. _If_ you mind your lessons.”

“I will, I swear it, Link!”

Link hugged him, laughing as Enon skipped with joy. The servants, the guards; there seemed to be no end to it. Firn even brought Zelda a small parting gift.

“The rest of the _azual_ ,” she said, handing over the small box of sandalwood. “For your true wedding bath.” She dropped a wink. Zelda accepted it gracefully and discretely kicked Sheik when he chuckled.

The people of Ordon paused in their labors and watched them pass. Some waved, a few called well-wishes. Many looked at Link with uncertainty.

Zelda understood their fear. Their prince was leaving them. Not to their border, but far beyond.  No soldiers to protect him. Unsure of when or if he would return.

Link drew up at the gate to the valley. Looking back, the fields spread lush. The city stood proud and strong. The King’s House rose at the far end, its windows glinting in the sun.

Zelda knew well the longing that crossed the young man’s face. She wanted to say something, but before she could find the words, he clicked his tongue and his horse started forward.

 

They followed the narrow, twisting road. Link turned them up a track that wound up into the hills which protected Ordon from the winds off the plains. Her soldiers continued on, to the bridge and the desert.

It was slow going as the horses labored up the steep slopes. Link and Sheik crafted a crude hitch from rope for their horses to pull a fallen tree from the trail. A rockfall proved difficult, leading the mounts around and through the dense thickets.

Zelda was more than ready to camp by the time Link dismounted in a clearing. Previous travelers had built a fire ring. The main trail continued into the hills, but a smaller path dipped down into a narrow ravine.

The Champion of Ordon seemed intent on speaking as little as possible. He handed her a bowl of food with terse ‘Here’ and settled on the ground to eat. As Sheik generally was a silent as Link, dinner conversation lagged.

She wondered if he expected her to complain about the rustic conditions. It wasn’t cold this time of year, but it certainly wasn’t warm. She wrapped herself in her blankets and laid down between Sheik and the embers.

Link sat up for a long time, looking at the stars.

A short night sleep in the wilderness apparently did the Champion good. He made small talk at breakfast as the sun was rising.

“Should make better time today; we’ve nearly reached the ridge.”

Sheik rolled his blankets expertly. “Reminds me of home, across the Great Field in the Faron Woods.”

“Trees and rocks?”

“And more trees and more rocks.” The men shared a smile and a knot of tension released in her stomach.

Camp was cleared in minutes. Link glanced down the path, the little one leading into the ravine.

“I need to do something, before we leave.”

Sheik waved a hand, busy adjusting his saddlebags. Whatever rapport the two had forged over rocky terrain was not enough to allay her suspicions.

“Where does that lead?” she asked.

He had taken something from his pack. “A temple to Ordona.”

She followed as he started down the trail. “All the way out here?”

He grunted. Glad he hadn’t objected to her presence, she bit down on her questions.

After a short walk, they passed under an arch that wasn’t quite natural. It rose out of the boulders, mossy and weatherworn. Another, and another; the remnants of a small temple. Faint sunbeams lit the open space. Any roof had long since fallen.

The statue to Ordona was equally damaged. The hand stretched out in blessing had lichen drooping off the palm. Link went up to the dais itself and stood looking up at his weatherworn Goddess.

In the shadows, weapons lay abandoned. Propped against tree trunks, driven into clefts between rocks, they stood silent and rusting. Only a few still gleamed in the morning light.

“It is customary for an Ordonian soldier to leave a weapon in the goddess’ keeping before he goes to battle.”

Link unwrapped a small wooden sword. Too short by far for him. It looked to be a child’s weapon, maybe a practice sword.

Zelda looked swiftly to his face. It had been _his_ , she was sure. Given to him by Ordon when he was deemed old enough to begin his training. Old enough to start on the path to the Master Sword.

 “One prays She will bring him safely home to retrieve it.”

Zelda’s eyes pricked with tears. “Not all do.” She knew this too well.

“No. Some never come home again.” He looked at the blades standing silent vigil with the Goddess. How many of them were familiar to him? How many friends had he lost?

He laid the little sword at the statue’s feet.

In her own grief, she looked at this young man and saw him more clearly than she had before. Had she really tried, scared of his power and what she feared he would do?

For he was just a boy, a frightened little boy behind the stern warrior’s face. A boy with no home, driven by fate, by the need to belong. He had grown strong and risen above his fears. But they were not forgotten.

“Come,” he said. She bit her lip, not wanting to cry in front of him. Stupid, getting emotional about some rusty swords.

She blamed her sorrow on this, while fearing that little sword would wait for its master until it rotted away and returned to the earth.


	3. The Prince of Ordon

**Chapter Three: The Prince of Ordon**

The smell of drying fish assaulted her nose and she sighed in relief. Her back hurt, her legs hurt, and she really needed a bath. Fish meant the Clareshaw fish pens, the Clareshaw Beck, and Highcalere House.

Link’s nose wrinkled. Zelda stifled a giggle.

“Clareshaw?” he asked, pointing to the town ahead of them.

“Yes. The wind carries the smell away from the house.”

He grimaced. “Small mercies.”

Sheik surveyed the town. “We’ll circle around through the fields. Once we’re inside, we can outfit you in uniform. Her Majesty’s guards won’t question your presence if I clear you.”

Link absently soothed his mount, patting the mare’s neck. “I think you should go on without me.”

Zelda jerked around to face him. “What do you mean?”

He blinked out of his preoccupation. “I don’t think this is the best way.”

“And you are just mentioning this _now_?”

He ignored her. “Return to the palace. It will take you, what, two days? I will meet you there.”

Sheik had not gripped weapons but was sitting relaxed in his saddle. “How will you contact us?”

Zelda had never seen a mischievous grin on the Champion’s face and it filled her with foreboding.

“This is not what I discussed with Ordon,” she protested.

“No,” he said. “But he’s not here.”

“What if you are captured?” No matter Ordon’s proclaimed determination for this treaty to come to fruition, she doubted it extended to his heir being held as a political prisoner. “How will you reach the Castle Town undetected?”

His sidelong look swelled her bosom with rage. Feeling stupid only added fuel to the heat. He had led them the last five days, skillfully avoiding any watchtowers or large towns, skirting the edges of the populated areas. He must have infiltrated her country many times before. And Sheik had to have figured it out long since.

He sat watching her, waiting for her answer. Would he heed her command? Or shrug and ride back the way he came? What his plan was, she had no idea. But she either trusted him – and his abilities as a general – or she didn’t. And for an uneducated goat herder, he managed to outmaneuver her with humiliating ease.

She was able to say with believable clam, “Very well, Captain. I will watch for your arrival.”

Link threw her a quick salute and gave Sheik a nod. The Hylian soldier smiled as he watched the Ordonian canter back toward the fields.

“Ordon was right. Have you decided?”

Married to that impulsive, disrespectful boy-soldier? Zelda tossed her hair, which needed a wash and brush desperately. “Let us hope it need not come to _that_.”

“I like him, Zelda.”

“Then I give you leave to marry him yourself.”

Sheik drew his reins through his hands, toying with the leather. “What do you think he’ll do?”

“Hylia only knows. May She protect us from his folly.”

Sheik laughed. “His audacity, more like. Come.”

 

He had spent the long days of riding turning over his idea, considering every possibility. Firn, benevolently interfering as always, had planted the seed.

While hidden in her guard, he would gain access to the palace. But then he would be limited by his rank and duties, as well as the Ordonian drawl he could not quite eradicate from his Hylian, no matter how he practiced. Someone would eventually grow suspicious and demand answers.

And what then? Come forward as the Champion of Light, a prince of Ordon? He’d spend the summer in the dungeons as the queen argued for his freedom. He had spent some weeks interred in Hyrule Castle and had no wish to repeat the experience.

He made good time across the rolling fields of Lower Hyrule Field. Open prairie turned to sprawling grain fields, then estates. The Master Sword rumbled indignantly from its wrappings, lashed under his saddle bags to hide the distinctive design. Once he blended into the traffic on the main trade roads, he became less conspicuous.

‘Castle Town’ was a misnomer.  The city sprawled over the delta formed by the Irritara river emptying into Lake Hylia. Six massive bridges crossed the turbulent waters. Each was crowned with a gate, heavily guarded. Towers and warehouses rose from the cobbled streets. Even several miles away, Link could hear the rumble of the populace: bells, shouting, wagons, cranes. No wonder Ordon was dismissed as backward by the thousands of Hylian occupants crowded into the stone city.

The gate guards made a cursory search of his belongings. Dressed in plain clothes and staring absently at the donkey in front of him, they assumed what he wished, that he was a bucolic nobody come to see the city.

Once inside and across the bridge, he led his horse down the narrow alleys packed close to the wall. Glad he hadn’t needed to scale the sheer edifice on this visit, he wound through the warren of streets until he found a familiar tavern.

A boy held his reins for a penny. Link shouldered his pack, the Sword no more happy braced across his shoulders than strapped to a saddle.

Inside was dim and smoky. The midday meal was winding down and workers either smoked leisurely or haggled the price of their meal. Link found an empty table and settled in.

A middle-aged woman saw him from the bar and waved acknowledgement. He held up two fingers and she nodded.

A few minutes later a bowl slid across the worn tabletop. Some previous occupants had kept a tally for their game of _tarok_ by scoring into the wood.

“My thanks,” Link said as she settled a mug next to the bowl.

She looked up sharply. A grin creased her face, eyes nearly squinting closed.

“By Hylia, what are you doing here, young Gotkasi?”

Link smirked up at her. “Just sightseeing, of course. What else?”

“It’s been an age, you rascal. Does Pacquin know you’re in town?”

“Not yet.”

She launched into a monologue of all he had missed in the past months. Babies, deaths, fights, arrests; Madame Pacquin’s clientele had had a tumultuous season, it seemed.

“The queen has recovered, thank Hylia. _I_ think the young thing works too hard. The image of her mother, you know. Plagued to death by those pompous Magistrates. Want to tax ale by the pint served! As if we didn’t already pay per barrel and bleed out all our profit!”

“She’s in the palace, then?”

Madame Pacquin’s friendly eyes hardened shrewdly. “What are you up to this time?” The woman never said so, but Link knew she had guessed much about his identity.

He looked as innocent as he could. She snorted and shoved a crusty roll at him. “That’s five coppers, thank you kindly. And no shading the regulars!”

Link promised to refrain from bilking her patrons at dice. It was too easy, with the Sword whispering the outcome of the tosses in his head.

A night spent in the attic of the tavern, a hearty breakfast, and Link was ready to initiate his plan. Firn had pressed a soft package on him at their parting. He unpacked it now, examining the contents by the light of the narrow attic window.

He strolled through the city, always impressed by the sheer size of it. Hundreds of shops, storied dwellings with slanted roofs. Warehouse, stables, forges. And people from all over Hyrule and beyond.

A seller hawked his guaranteed authentic Goron-made hauberk. Link passed with scare a glance, his own as light and supple as silk under his tunic. It had been forged by the heat of the living earth, deep within the caldera of the Goron king.

Another pressed a small vial of fairy-tonic on him, a bargain at six silvers. Having met several fairies and not particularly enjoying it, Link passed yet again.

He did pause by a statue of Hylia. Set in the center of a circular common space, she watched her people go about their daily lives. He knew it was his imagination, but he thought She looked stern, maybe a little resigned.

Any statue of a Goddess followed the same mold. High cheekbones, a shapely point to the ear. An arm outstretched to Her devotees. Yet Ordona always seemed gentle, Her upturned palm an invitation. Hylia held up Her hand in command, silencing you before correcting something stupid you just said.

_As all should pay heed, when a Goddess speaks. Particularly Her Chosen Warrior._

Link smiled to himself. His reflection in the basin at her feet glinted with more than coins and sunlight. He kissed his fingers, then touched them to Hylia’s feet. He had done the same before, mimicking the Hylians around him as he moved unseen through their country.

This time as he walked on, he could feel Her eyes on his back. She was skeptical. Ordona was persuasive. He wondered what They would decide to do with him.

The shops and the people became cleaner and richer as he approached the castle. There was still time to turn back. He could sneak in, find Sheik, proceed with the original plan. Would Ordon be amused or exasperated when he heard tell of Link’s exploits? He wasn’t one for showmanship. He preferred to keep to the shadows.

Link drew off his plain cloak and handed it to a beggar. The man clutched the fabric eagerly.

“Hylia preserve you, lord!”

Link prayed she might.

He attracted increasing attention as he crossed the last plaza before the castle proper. Standing before the gates, he unfastened the sheath from his back and planted the _chape_ on the cobbles.

The guards were not unaware of his arrival. Two came from the gatehouse and eyed him.

“What is your business here?”

There was no going back now.

“I am Link of the Gotkasi, Champion of Ordona, Prince of the House of Ordon, and Captain of the Demon Watch. I would speak with the queen.”

The guardsmen swept an astonished look over him. The Champion’s Tunic was a fine garment. Firn’s rendition of the princely accoutrements set the Ordon Blue to best advantage with silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs. The Rito were rumored to spin clouds into their weaving, making strong but light fabrics.

The diamond at his forehead was of the highest quality and cut. The Diadem had sat unused for years in Ordon’s armory. Had Firn asked permission? Likely not.

All these details declared him some sort of lord, possibly a prince.

Enameled with deep blue lapis and shimmering mother-of-pearl, chased with gold, the sheath itself was worth a fortune.  The symbol of the Triforce reflected the nooning sun, set below the throat. Winged cross-guards and a sapphire pommel-stone crowned the weapon. Link had seen a dozen fakes over the years.

A guard went running into the palace.

There was no mistaking the true Master Sword.

 

Zelda glanced up as the door to her study opened. Lord Boas did not slow his tirade, an avalanche of percentages, yields, and shipping figures she had long since lost track of. His assistant looked pained; hopefully he would distill the report down for her.

“Your Majesty, you are needed most urgently!” The guard’s knee brushed the carpet before he sprang back to his feet.

“What is it?”

“There is, well, there is a man at the gates.”

Fear stabbed through her. She stood smoothly. “‘A man?’” Though, even a sorcerer king might be welcome relief at the moment.

“He says he is a prince. From Ordon.”

Zelda gave a not entirely false start of surprise. Would the boy really just walk up to the gate? “What nonsense is this?”

“My queen, he as a sword.”

She waved dismissively. “So do each of my soldiers. Send him on his way.”

“Ma’am, it is _the_ Sword.”

She looked to the tapestry hanging on the far wall. Embroidered in exquisite detail, the Master Sword glowered over the occupants.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She left Boas gaping. “What does he want?”

“To see you.” The guard trotted beside her, scrambling to open doors as she hurried through the corridors. What in Hylia’s name was the boy doing? “He was taken to the White Salon.”

“Where is Sheik?”

“He awaits you there.”

Glad she had been overdressed this morning, Zelda paused and collected herself. Was it really him? Was this some trick? Sheik would know him, right? She nodded to the guard.

The Champion stood by the window. The sunlight caught the gem at his brow as he turned.

“You are the Hylian queen?” he asked.

She stood speechless with indignation. Of all the stupid, impulsive…! She drew upon years of life in the public eye. “I am Zelda. Pray, who are _you_?”

His eyes narrowed the slightest, as if he were hiding a smile. “I am Link of the Gotkasi.”

A gross understatement. “A citizen of Ordon, then?”

He showed his smile this time and the mischievousness she mistrusted was still there. “Their prince, actually.”

 _Now_ he wanted to claim the position? “Have you any proof to the title?”

The Master Sword had been slung from his belt. He shifted his hand where it rested on the hilt. Blue and gold flashed.

“None but my word.”

Arrogant pig. Yet she could not stop her laughter. He raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“I apologize, ‘Your Highness’,” she said. “It is not every day someone has the brash to present themselves as royalty and demand an audience with the queen.”

“And I apologize if my request was interpreted as such. I did not expect such a precipitous response.”

His accent, which she suspected he was playing up on purpose, drawled the words into something almost insolent.

“Why did you come here, Prince…Link, is it?”

He spread his hands. “I am the Master of the Sword of Light.”

And she would never tell him how relieved she felt to see him. “That remains to be seen.”

“You doubt my word?”

“Can you blame me?” One never knew who was spying in the palace.  She must be cautious. She sniffed disdainfully. “You are not the first to pretend to such a position.”

His smile was dark now. “I would pity them, but for their blasphemy.”

She had forgotten Sheik was in the room. “Shall I summon the Priestess, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, thank you.” She turned back to the Champion. “We shall see if your claims are genuine.”

“I look forward to the challenge.”

 

The loft of the Palace Temple was much more crowded than usual, particularly for the mid-afternoon.

Zelda blithely ignored their pointing and whispers. She sat in the throne at Hylia’s feet. She used this space whenever she needed the support of the Goddess of Law and Judgment in her political dealings.

Kahlin of Westgate, the High Priestess of Hylia, stood next to her. The tall, graceful woman watched Link stride confidently up to the dais.

“Sure of himself, this one,” she murmured.

Zelda noted it, also. Something had changed. He lacked the turmoil she had sensed in him, back in Ordon. What had steadied him?

He stopped in the center of the room and looked forward with the same sardonic smile playing on his mouth. She still mistrusted it, feared it even. This boy could be a disaster if he chose.

“Who comes before the Great Goddess?” Kahlin asked.

Link bowed respectfully. “I am called Link. My line is of Ordon, Gotkasi of the Torcana hills.”

“Why do you bring a weapon into this sacred place?”

He straightened, the shifting of the mail under his tunic chiming like tiny bells. He drew the Master Sword.

Kahlin inhaled sharply. “Where did you get this?”

“The Sword passes from Master to student, as it has for countless ages. I am its Master now.”

He drove the point into the floor of the temple.

Zelda surged to her feet, knives ready. Her heartbeat thundered, echoing back from the cold stone walls. She turned at a flash of color.

Link frowned at her. “You’re here?”

“What is this? I demand you return me at once!”

“We haven’t left, I think. This is the dream place.”

“The what?”

“The Master is here,” he said, turning slowly to survey the room. “Or, this is where he appears to me.”

Shadows shifted along the walls though the candles were still. Her steps had a hollow sound as she moved closer to him. The solid breadth of him was reassuring as the temple wavered around them.

“Did you do this?” he asked.

“ _Me?”_ she squeaked. “Of course not!”

He had his Sword again. Was it real? Was any of this real?

“How do we get back?”

“We’re still in the temple,” he said. “And I wasn’t in control last time.”

“Last time?”

He stilled, head cocked. “Last time, it was…”

He spun, sword singing. He shoved her behind him, planting himself between her and the sorcerer.

Zelda gripped her weapons and peered over his shoulder.

“Who are you _?_ ”

“So, you found each other, yet again,” the man said.

Link angled the blade. His face reflected in the clear steel. “What do you want?”

“The final warning, boy.”

Anger snapped the air around them. “I will kill you, _crytch_. I will find you and destroy you.”

The Sorcerer smiled. “I am counting on it.”

He parried Link’s thrust. Ephemeral as smoke, he slipped under the Champion’s guard.

Zelda scrambled back as Link was lifted from the ground, the demon’s claws clenched around his neck. He pulled him close, hissing with satisfaction.

“You are nothing, boy,” it whispered. Zelda’s knives passed through it, the shifting, formless mass of its body growing, gathering in the shadows. “You think you can resist me?”

Link grunted in pain, the demon’s claws biting into his skin.

“I am your Master. Do not fight it.”

Darkness oozed from its fingers, running along Link’s skin, seeping into his flesh.

“Serve me, and I will spare your home.” The darkness traced sinuously up his face, reaching for his eyes.

Link kicked out. The demon caught his boot with a contemptuous laugh. But the leverage was all Link needed. He jerked, slamming his other boot against the demon’s chest.

The beast snarled as Link broke free. He twisted in midair and the Master Sword cleaved the shadows.

Zelda gasped, the rush of noise crashing into her ears. Kahlin stood braced, her hand outstretched in unconscious mimicry of her Goddess above.

Link knelt on the floor. He gripped the hilt of the Sword to hold himself upright. The marble slab had cracked, a jagged star radiating out from the Sword.

The din was cacophonous, people crying out, the stamp of feet. The wave of power rumbled into the distance. Link looked up. For an instant his eyes gleamed, then faded back to blue.

Kahlin had recovered. She lifted her arms.

“Stand, Link.”

He did, grimacing as he steadied himself. He withdrew the Sword and stood looking down at it.

“Welcome, Master of the Sword. Welcome, Champion of the Light.”

He sheathed the weapon, a fluid motion he must have practiced thousands of times. His hands trembled before he clenched them at his side.

 “Welcome, Prince.”

 

There was no way to be alone with him, to demand answers. He had to be officially welcomed, given a suite of rooms, fed, bathed, clothed. Every little detail some sycophant could imagine was arranged and presented to the hapless boy.

Zelda observed this from a distance and found grim pleasure in it. He would not be eating on the floor here, that was certain.

She paced her room that night, trying to compose a message that would appear innocuous. While few wished her ill, many wished their pockets lined and latched on to any possible tidbit that would give them an edge up on their equals.

Invite him to breakfast? A negotiation session, preliminary, so she might exclude her cabinet?

He solved the problem in a fashion she was growing resigned to. He swung neatly over the edge of her balcony and rapped on her window.

“How did you get up here?” she demanded as she let him in.

He shrugged. “I’ve climbed it before. Er…not your tower, of course, but…other…ones…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his head. “Does it matter?”

“It damn well matters that you’ve been sneaking into my country and doing Hylia knows what!”

He tried to smile disarmingly. “Just looking.”

“For what?”

“Just…around.”

She jabbed his chest with a stiff finger. “I catch you ‘looking’ again, I’ll have you arrested!”

“You did, once.”

“When?”

“A few summers past. Your dungeons leak.”

“I regret you did not die of prison fever!”

“Zelda? Are you alright?” Sheik poked his head around the door. Link popped up from wherever he had disappeared to when the latch had clicked.

“Oh, it’s you. Some show today, Gotkasi. I didn’t know you had such dramatic flair.”

Link grinned. “I’ll never hear the end of it, I think.”

Zelda fumed. “Are we not going to talk about it?”

The Champion sobered at once. “You saw it, too, then? The beast?”

She nodded, rubbing her arms against her sudden chill. The silk snagged on the rough places of her hands. “Is the Sorcerer part of the beast? Helping it?”

Sheik demanded an explanation.

“It was consuming you,” Zelda told Link. “The darkness.”

Link touched his throat gingerly. She could see the reddened marks where the beast’s grip had crushed his mail into his skin.

“Here,” she said, drawing him to her vanity. “I have a salve.”

He sat obediently as she smeared the ointment over the injuries. His hauberk was nearly as light as the cloth of his tunic when she shifted it to reach his shoulder.

“Goron made?”

He nodded.

“How did you steal it?”

“I won it, actually.”

“ _You_ beat a Goron in a wrestling match?”

He chuckled. It vibrated through his chest, his collarbone hard under her hand. “Footrace. Volcanos are much harder to climb than castles. And Baeark had the advantage; he could walk through the lava.”

“If your mother were alive, you would be the death of her.” She wiped her hands on a clean cloth. “There. Better?”

He rotated his shoulders and neck. “Yes. Thank you.”

His attention shifted to her cosmetics. He touched the sandalwood box Firn had given her.

“ _Azual_?” he asked. “Firn must really like you.”

“She despairs of your marrying.”

He rolled his eyes. “She and Ordon both.”

Sheik cleared his throat. “So, what do we do now?”

Zelda had forgotten him again. It made her blush, which she didn’t understand, and was glad the dim light hid it.

Link’s humor faded. “I need to confront the Shadow.”

“I forbid you from walking up to his keep and demanding entry,” Zelda said firmly.

He eyed her sideways. “It’s effective, though.”

“You were lucky _I_ don’t want to kill you.”

Link shifted the weight of the Sword. “What did he mean? That we found each other again?”

“Or that he was your Master?”

Ordon was right: the feral child still seethed in him. “I am no one’s slave.”

Zelda swallowed a suddenly dry throat. “It is late. I want to consult my Priestess before we do anything aggressive toward Druynia and the Shadow there. This is more than a war of arms.”

Link gave his head a shake and his eyes came alive again. “Eventually I will need to go into Druynia.”

“Until we know more, it is reckless.”

He grimaced. “If we wait, he will only grow stronger.”

She placed a hand on his arm, gripping his tunic to hold him still. “It is not safe to go alone. Even with the Sword. We cannot risk it falling into the Shadow’s possession. We cannot risk _you_.”

He half-smiled. “Then what is the point of being the Champion?”

“Promise me-”

“Ciela!” Sheik hissed. Link was gone in an instant, a shadow within shadows as he went over the balustrade.

Zelda’s personal maid peeked around the door. “My lady, you are still awake!”

And she was late into the night. She had thought she understood the Ordonian Prince. Now…now she was scared. For him and all their people.

 

Hyrule had a very different attitude toward royalty than Ordon. Someone barged into his borrowed room and drew back the curtains much too early.

Link grimaced, rolling over to block the light that stabbed his eyes. Since they weren’t trying to be stealthy, he released his knife hidden under his pillow.

“Your Highness?”

He blinked his vision clear to find a small, round man standing next to the bed.

“Your Highness, are you awake?”

He already disliked that title; it carried too many connotations. “Who are you?”

“I am Vin, of Handdon Province. Her Majesty the queen appointed me to be your valet while you stay in the palace. Unless, of course, your own servant has accompanied you?”

Link hovered between annoyance and amusement. “I don’t have one.”

“Then allow me to say it is an honor, my lord, to serve one as storied as yourself.”

Link sat up and rubbed his face. “’Storied?’”

This Vin moved much quicker than a man of his girth would be expected. Link watched fascinated as he bustled about the large room.

“Oh, yes, my lord. The tale of your battle with the Hyrdabeast. Or when you pierced the eye of the Great Wind Dragon with the Lightening Arrow of Zhalguhl.”

Embarrassed, Link kicked off the bedclothes. “What are you doing?”

Vin was laying out a tunic. “Seeing as you brought little in the way of clothing, I took the liberty of having our tailors provide you with appropriate garments.”

The color was not quite right, but then Hyrule likely had as few _besum_ root they did _azual_. The tunic was cut after the Hylian fashion, longer and slim through the waist. Link washed and let Vin settle it over his head.

“I assumed you would not want your _maille_ today, my lord. I have an armorer cleaning it and your other kit.”

Link tried not to hunch his shoulders. He felt naked, no hauberk, no greaves, no bracers. No knives. The trousers were tighter than he usually wore and the new boots stiff.

“How does it fit, my lord?”

Link shrugged. “Close enough.”

Vin beamed. “Allow me to dress your hair.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

The man attacked his head with a brush. Link suffered through it, knowing Hyrule would have paid much to witness this. Finally, Vin tied it back and placed the Ordonian Diadem on his head.

“Now, your baldric.”

At least the Sword felt familiar on his back. Link was starting to regret his choices. Vin bowed him out of the room.

Sheik waited for him.

“Your Highness, I am Sheik. I am Her Majesty’s personal guard. If you would follow me, there is a meal waiting.”

They passed through corridors lined with tapestries and statues.

“If you would like, I will select guards for your personal detail, Your Highness.”

“No, thank you.”

“My lord?”

“I don’t need them.” And they would get in the way, should he want to poke around a little.

Sheik stopped by a door. “I do not doubt your prowess, my lord. However, I do know some men who would gladly serve an Ordonian prince.”

Link sent him a quick look. “Very well.”

Sheik gave a half bow and let Link into the room.

Hyrule sat at a small table set by an open casement. She saw him and rose.

“Good morning, Ordon. I trust you slept well.”

His nightmares were almost comforting in their regularity. “I did, thank you. And please, I hope to have many years before I am Ordon.”

Never would be preferable.

They sat and were served. Hyrule maintained small talk, to which he returned bland answers. Before long, he was itching to be out _doing._ Servants came and went quietly _._ Guards stood still around the room. It was horribly refined.

Hyrule set aside her utensils. “If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to. Shall we meet to discuss our treaty later this afternoon?”

He stood as she did, servants leaping forward to pull back their chairs. Nonsense, all of it. Hyrule left in a swarm of servants and guards.

Now what? Tour the palace? Lurk awkwardly in gardens? Would he be allowed in the temple? Cantor was quite lax about who went in and out of his domain. But then, who would steal from Ordona?

He retraced his steps of the previous afternoon. Stares followed him through the palace. Should he feign a lack of fluency in Hylian? That sounded more work than not, remembering to be grammatically clumsy. And likely, most people already thought him backward, possibly illiterate. Hylians had a poor opinion of their more rustic neighbors.

The temple was an annex of the palace. Set in a verdant courtyard, it rose graceful and serene. The arched columns added height, reaching up to the sky.

It lacked the familiar coziness of the temple at home. His earliest memories -the clear ones, without the haze Ordona maintained- were of running through the temple grounds, playing with the other children. He had never played before and still reveled in the exhilaration of it.

Did they know then who he would become? Had their parents whispered to each other, that this strange, broken boy would become the Hero, their prince? How much of his life did he control?

_Destiny may be written, but you make the choice._

There had been some who questioned his worthiness. A few who outright disliked him. But he knew his adopted people supported him absolutely. Here, he would not be so lucky.

Kahlin made that apparent at once.

She stood by the wound he had made in her floor and watched him with narrowed eyes.

“Hail, Champion.” Her voice rolled over him, years of declaiming to her congregation giving it power.

“Hail, Lady of Hylia.”

She huffed through her nose. “What do you know of Hylia?”

Not much. They were still measuring each other warily. He looked up to Her and bowed. “Enough to respect Her.”

Kahlin sighed and gestured curtly for him to follow. Her sparse chamber was nothing like Cantor’s, who had filled his alcove with trinkets and books. Kahlin settled in a chair very much like a throne and glared at him. He was not surprised she had been called to serve as High Priestess. She and Hylia were eerily similar.

There was no other chair. Link considered sitting on the floor, but instead hooked his thumbs in his belt and waited.

_She has power, a true priestess._

He could feel it, simmering behind her calm front.

“How old are you, boy?”

“I don’t know.”

She frowned. “How can you not know?”

“I was born a slave.”

Her eyebrows arched as high as her temple pillars. Not exactly a glorious lineage. “And you have no knowledge of your parents?”

“None.” He was trying to keep his emotions controlled, but his tone went icy anyway. “Likely Hylian, though.”

No Hylian liked to hear of their slave trade. It was officially illegal, but hard to eradicate, profitable for those in control of it. Forced labor was an acceptable penalty for debt, real or otherwise.

“You cannot be more than twenty-five years,” she said.

“My Lord Ordon estimates I was six years when I joined the household. Hard to tell, given I couldn’t talk when the Gotkasi found me.”

He usually never spoke to anyone about this. But he was enjoying shocking her. She clearly expected much more from the Champion. As if his ‘storied’ exploits weren’t enough.

“Your upbringing does not concern me,” she said, dismissing his origins. “What happened yesterday?”

“You saw it?”

She flicked her fingers at him. “I felt something. A hiccup, a wrinkle. What did you see?”

Link described the shadow and the warning.

“The queen was there?” Kahlin demanded.

“This time, yes.”

“And you have been to this place before?”

Thousands of times, he now knew. “Yes.”

“How do you gain entry?”

“I don’t control it. It draws me in.”

“I do not like that,” she said, almost to herself. He agreed. She stared into the middle distance for several minutes. Speaking with Hylia? He thought he could hear a murmur of their interchange.

Then, “Why are you here?”

“In truth? Because Lord Ordon wanted it.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Did your Goddess not command you?”

How to explain that Ordona did not command? She requested, She persuaded. Comforted when you refused and the consequences rained down. One learned to heed Her suggestions closely.

And She wanted him here. Had been urging him to leave Ordon for months. He had been ignoring it and look what it got him: a gold circlet and a talk of marriage. Both were far worse than battling evil; he was accustomed to that.

Kahlin unexpectedly chuckled. “You are a perplexing man, Champion. Complicated.”

“I apologize. I would have much preferred a simpler life.”

“Would you really? Somehow, I doubt that. What do you plan to do now?”

Apparently, _not_ march into Druynia and deal with this problem once and for all. Hyrule, Hylia, and Ordona were all in agreement on that. He wondered if he could, or if their combined prohibition would find some catastrophic way to stop him. He did not want to risk it.

“What do you know of this sorcerer-king?” he asked her.

She scowled. “One of their lords, a man called Hyphestin. The death of their king last year cast the country into chaos.”

Link nodded agreement. “We had been receiving refugees until the winter closed the passes. Then the Shadow.”

She relaxed enough to look worried. “I cannot See past the barrier. If they were aggressive, then perhaps…”

“I have seen the hordes with my own eyes,” Link said grimly. “It is only a matter of time until they attack.”

Kahlin smiled mirthlessly. “If you can convince Her Majesty’s cabinet of this, I will be in your debt.”

“Are they so blind to the threat?”

“Comfortable with peace. And unwilling to believe ‘fairies’ tales.”

Link scoffed. “Blasted fools. It is not five years since I cleared your Watch. Can they not see the Shadow?”

Kahlin did not respond at once. She watched him through narrowed eyes. “It is rumored this is more than an upstart king. Some fear this is the return of Ganon.”

_Ganon._

Link had to force his hand still at his side. The Sword bellowed at him, raging, demanding to go and destroy the Dark Lord. The Priestess recoiled from its fury.

“Well,” she said, a little breathless. “There is no doubt you are the Chosen One.”

The Sword settled, seething with impatience. Link let out a breath. Sweat chilled his forehead.

“If it is,” he said, “then invasion is a certainty. Have you spoken to Hyrule about this?”

“Yes. She is cautious.”

Link would shake some sense into the girl. “What rumors?”

He left the temple as the sun was passing its zenith. Kahlin, though not thrilled with her Champion, expressed her gratitude for his coming here.

He listened for a moment. The Sword still urged him to slay the demon king. Ordona encouraged, reminding him of home and family. Hylia gave allowance for his impulsiveness.

It was strange to feel Her presence. But somehow, he felt…grounded. More assured. The circlet did not weigh on his head. She was the Goddess of Kings, after all.

Borrowing that confidence, he strode into the palace.


	4. The Fall of Hyrule

**Chapter Four: The Fall of Hyrule**

Link’s restlessness made her own legs twitch. He roved around the room, pacing from the empty fireplace at one end to the tall window at the other.

She sat calmly and offered meager terms. Eyes sparkling with energy, he protested.

“This is pointless,” he said. “We both know the threat to our peoples. Ordon will put aside past grievances. We must confront this Sorcerer united.”

“And I will be glad to assist in any way I can. However-”

“‘Assist?’” he spat. “Your standing army is larger than our entire nation!”

Why was he so heated? She brushed her thoughts over him and was firmly rebuffed.

“Which does not make their lives less valuable,” she said aloud.

“Do not lecture _me_ on the value of my men’s lives.” What did Kahlin say to him? There was new steel in his voice. “Ordona watches over many silent swords. Lives lost hunting _crytch_ that roamed _your_ Watch.”

“No one asked you to do this.”

“I am the Champion of Ordona. I will eradicate darkness wherever I find it.”

Zelda wondered if he knew how much that sounded like a threat. She needed a powerful ally, not a crusader.

“There is no darkness here, Champion.”

He gave her a quick look and his energy shaded with apology. “I know. Which is why I need your help.”

She wondered, too, if he knew how boyish he appeared in his earnestness. It was charming and she resisted it.

“And I understand your need. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed and they will be rewarded. But launching a full out assault on a nation that has given us no cause will lead only to pain and war.”

He was finally still. He looked down on her, brows drawn together.

“And if Ordon was one of your provinces? Would you intervene then?”

Ordon had been, some three hundred years ago. A drawn-out conflict with the Rito had allowed the always truculent nation to break away.

“That is neither here nor there. I will aid you. How, must be discussed further with my magistrates.”

She expected an explosive response. Instead he only looked at her a moment, maybe puzzled. Then he sighed.

“I do understand, Your Majesty. I just…”

She could see the drive pulling him forward. This was not all play-acting for whoever was spying. He _needed_ to be moving, fighting, challenging. Any remnant of darkness in his ken would draw him as a wasp to honey.

She stood and went to him. “Give me time,” she told him, Link, not the Prince. “All will be well.”

He half-smiled. “If we are finished, I believe there are some Ordonian soldiers I need to review for guard detail.”

Where in the world did he find them? She accepted his salute and watched him stride out.

She let out a breath. The boy crackled with energy. How Ordon had contained him, she did not know. Or had he? There was no end the rumors of his activities, in Ordon and beyond.

Sheik waited while she took a few moments to relax in her chambers. Ciela redressed her hair and curtsied out. Zelda rubbed her temples.

“How long must he stay?” she wondered aloud. “He tires me more than twenty other courtiers combined.”

Sheik was honing a long knife. “Why didn’t you take his offer?”

“To send my soldiers to slaughter? Are you mad?”

He drew his stone firmly along the blade. “No, his hint at marriage.”

She spun in her chair to glare at him. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought it obvious, his asking about Ordon returning to its place as a Hylian province.”

She pressed her hands to her eyes. “I am not going to marry him! He’s a boy, hardly old enough to enlist!”

Sheik flipped the blade to smooth the other side. “He’s at least twenty-three. Only three years younger than you.”

She twisted her bracelet around her wrist, watching the glint of gems. “He’s short for his age, then.” Slightly ungenerous on her part. But while not diminutive, he was no more than average in height. Sheik towered over him.

“Malnutrition,” the older man guessed. “Stunted his growth. And he had his legs broken young.”

She winced. “Ordon told me.” A punishment, during his years as a slave? An accident? Was that why he was abandoned, too damaged to work?

“Good thing, though,” Sheik said unexpectedly. “Otherwise he’d be a giant.”

She watched him test the edge, bemused. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not a small man, even if he started runty,” Sheik explained. “And that Sword; not everyone can manage a hand-and-a-half of that weight. He’s too short for it but handles it easily. And with a shield, too. I’m not saying he’d beat a Zora at arm wrestling, but he’s not one I would tackle barehanded.”

Zelda didn’t whether to laugh or toss up her hands in frustration. “He must be quite the physical specimen.”

Sheik heard her drollery and grinned. “Aye.”

 “And so handsome, says Goodwife Firn.”

“I couldn’t speak to that, my lady.”

“The perfect husband.”

“Nay, lass, too restive.”

She threw a book at him.

 

Link read through the dossiers of the men ‘eager’ to serve him.

Smuggler. Murderer. _Slaver._

“No,” he said, pushing the papers across the table. “Absolutely not.”

Sheik made no move to take them.

“They are Ordonian citizens, my lord.”

“Then why did you not return them to us?”

“Their crimes were on Hylian soil.”

“And they can serve out their sentences in Hylian prison.”

Sheik did take the papers then and tapped them on the table to straighten them. “My lord, if I may?”

Link gestured his permission.

“I do not know much about your Goddess. But I do understand that She is generally kind and forgiving. Except with those who hurt the young or defenseless.”

Link’s breath caught before he could control it. That had been part of the draw to serve Her, knowing She would protect him from further hurt, further betrayal by those supposed to care for him.

“While She may not forgive them their past crimes, would Her mercy recognize their choices now? It may be they are remorseful for what they have done. Perhaps Her punishment in the next life could be tempered by their serving Her Champion in this one?”

Why did he want this? Link frowned at the man, who maintained a bland expression.

“These men have been incarcerated for some time, my lord. Long enough to show consistent good behavior and willingness to work. They do not attempt to escape when sent to the fields. They do not fight with the other inmates.”

Link held out his hand for the papers again. “How many?”

“Ten.”

A traditional Demon Watch unit, ten men and an officer. A sign? Or Sheik being managing?

“Where are they?”

Sheik led him outside the palace proper. They passed through a heavy gate and into the prison grounds.

It was quiet. Many of the inmates were out laboring on this fine spring day. Guards stood at regular intervals, watching their progress with professional detachment.

Link stilled a shiver. The memory of iron shackles still dragged at his legs. He was not one who had worked quietly in the fields. Were they still on the watch for him?

“Here, my lord.”

Link was not expecting much, so was not disappointed. A pathetic group of men waited in a small courtyard. Showing signs of long incarceration, they were scrawny and dull-eyed.

Those eyes widened as they examined him. Even if they did not know him personally, there was only one man allowed to wear the Champion’s Tunic.

“I am Link of the Gotkasi.” They actually drew together, fear breaking the nothingness of their faces. Did they think he was here to punish them?

“I am the Champion of Ordona, Captain of the Demon Watch.”

Definitely terrified. One fell to his knees. Link eyed them, a little confused. “I am not here to execute you.”

The man on his knees hid his face in his hands.

 _Slaver._ The Sword hissed the word. Link swallowed and spoke as calmly as he could.

“I am here because Ordon is threatened. The Shadow in the Watch grows stronger. There are whispers of Ganon.”

He had to grip his wrist with his off hand, forcing the limb down. The Sword, already incensed, snarled at him.

Sheik stepped forward, but Link gave a curt head shake. He could control it.

The prisoners gaped at him.

“What…” One of the men moistened his lips. “What do you want with us, my lord?”

“Service. Ordona…” He stilled, listening to Her edict. “Ordona knows your crimes. Serve me and She may honor your reparation.” The usually merciful goddess was implacable. “Betray me, and…” He couldn’t stop his wince. Her threat was particularly unpleasant. “It is your choice, as is Her way. No consequences will follow if you choose not to serve me.”

The same man stepped forward. “Why us?”

Link looked to Sheik. “I don’t know why,” he admitted. Why were They so adamant he use these men? “This man, this Hylian, is my friend. He has vouched for you.”

“We are not soldiers, my lord.”

That was clear. “I do not need protection.” The prisoner smiled a little.

“If half what they say is true, I believe it, Champion. I accept, my lord.” The others echoed him.

Link could not be pleased but was willing to allow them this mercy. The man on the ground peeked up at him.

Link helped him to his feet. The man dropped his eyes.

“I cannot get my childhood back,” he told the prisoner. “And I would not wish returned, if it changed my fate today.” Even if he could have just one memory of a mother, an embrace, love? Would that have only made his suffering worse?

The man swallowed. “I understand, my lord.”

“Come.”

 

Vin was in his element. Presented with a group of dirty, emaciated convicts, he puffed up his expansive chest and got to work.

Though chronically underfed, they had survived the harsh Hylian prison so far, speaking to strong constitutions. Most still had their teeth. But even shaved and scrubbed, dressed in borrowed uniforms, and standing at attention they looked woefully bedraggled.

Link had to smile. With rosy cheeks from soap and wide eyes, it was like a group of children come to see the Champion for a special feast day outing.

“You look ridiculous,” Link told them. The Hylian guards’ uniforms were ornate, with gold braid and gilded buttons. Vin had stripped them down to the bare essentials, but they were still silly looking.

The one who spoke before, Karn, adjusted his overtunic. “Never did like these.”

“You wore one? As a Hylian soldier?”

Karn hesitated, reluctant to speak his treason. “Yes, Champion. On occasion.”

Link made sure Vin was out of earshot. “Mine always rode up in the back.”

They stared, startled, then grins peeked through. Bells sounded and Link sighed.

“Evening meal,” he explained. “With the queen. And some of her court.”

That scared them more than the thought of being executed by their Prince.

“You, Karn, and you, Gregin, was it?”

“Yes, Champion.”

“Related to Gregin of the Dhahtin?”

“No, sir. Heard of him, though. A good man.”

“He was. You two come with me. The rest of you, eat and have Vin or someone find you a place to sleep. You can’t _all_ stay in my chambers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And get someone to make up some Ordonian colors.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stay out of trouble.”

They chuckled. “Yes, Champion.”

 

Zelda stood between Sheik and Kyln, wondering why she had agreed to let Link into her country. The boy -the _young man_ \- caused her no end of trouble.

“I will not allow it!” Kyln said in his bellowing way. Too many years shouting at troops to speak moderately now.

Sheik was unruffled. “The Prince is allowed his own guard detail, by common courtesy as well as treaty.”

“They are _convicted felons!_ ”

“They have sworn loyalty and obedience to their Champion.”

“Their word means nothing!”

“Their word has been taken by Ordona. She will punish them if they betray Her Chosen Hero.”

Kyln made his opinion of Ordona and her Champion known. Sheik bristled for the first time.

“He _is_ the Hero. Do not disrespect him.”

Zelda blinked at her guard. So did Kyln. The Captain of the Palace Guard backed down. A little.

“Her Majesty will have additional protection.”

Sheik shrugged, aloof once more. “As you will.”

Kyln glowered after him. “I do _not_ like this, Your Majesty. Why did you allow this Ordon savage into the palace?”

She chose not to remind him that his guards had let him in. Or that a moat, walls, watchtowers, and men armed with crossbows could not keep him out, in any case.

“It is necessary.”

Kyln was one who argued for repossessing the province by force. A weak spot on their flank, he always said. She wondered they were so lucky to have such a strong defense against the encroaching Shadow. The Demon Watch was known the breadth of Hyrule for its bravery and ferocity.

But the man merely grunted and went to bellow at someone else.

She hoped Link would come. She wouldn’t put it past the boy - _young man-_ to skip the event. Nothing official, but her magistrates were becoming impatient to get their hooks in him.

She berated herself. That was an unkind thought, but there it was. She felt the weight of the crown at her brow and sighed. She had seen her father this afternoon. He had remembered her name, this time.

All had assembled when a servant opened the door and bowed Link into the room. He strode in, sword at his hip again. Two men followed, both gaunt and sallow.

Talk trickled to a murmur. He ignored everyone and came to give her a short bow.

“Hyrule.”

“Ordon.”

He gave her a wry look. “I thought we agreed not for many years?”

“Champion, then. Or is it Captain?”

“Either are acceptable.”

She hoped she would find an opportunity to kick him under cover of the table. “May I introduce…?”

He endured the introductions with cool poise. His drawl lilted out, his responses liberally peppered with ‘ _ta’_ and ‘ _nahn.’_

A nice hard one, to his shin.

He made such a revenge impossible, however. After casually handing the Master Sword to one of his fumbling retainers, he settled in a chair and tucked his legs up, cross wise.

Blithely ignoring the looks exchanged between the Hylians, he sat back and surveyed the room with a glint in his eye. Zelda cast an anguished glance to Sheik. He saw her distress and addressed the Champion of the Goddess.

Link chuckled. “ _Nahn,_ Sheik. I am growing accustomed to them already.”

With the boy -yes, the _boy_ \- distracted, Zelda set about managing the meal. No matter he sat cross-legged like a fortune teller, his neighbors were eager to speak with him. Zelda caught snippets as she ate. It was all innocuous until Lord Hyman elbowed in on the conversation.

“You are Ordon’s _adopted_ son, is that right?”

“I am.”

“Who was your family before, then?”

The nobleman did not hear the danger in Link’s tone. “I didn’t have one.”

“Orphaned? Hmph.”

Link took a sip of the smooth wine served with the fish course. “The Gotkasi took me in at first. We stayed close, even after I joined Ordon’s household.” His laugh was artificial, none of the warmth she now knew. “Taught me the family business. It was a welcome break from studying with the priests.”

Lady Ecclain neatly intercepted Hyman’s response. “How kind of them! What is their business?”

“Goats.”

Zelda set her utensils aside and tucked her hands in her lap.

Ecclain blinked furiously. “‘Goats?’”

“ _Ta,_ my lady. Breed them, herd them. Milk them.”

Now a good portion of the table was listening without even pretending not to. She bit her lip to stop her laughter.

Link was waxing poetic. “Takes skill, does goat herding. Sheep are easy, more tractable, _ta?_ You need to guide a goat herd, not bunch it. Finding the leader, that’s the key. Many times, I ended on my a-...er…back, trying to force a _weldin_ along a path. ‘Til I was taller, _nahn?_ Then you learn the trick to wrestling them. Leverage, really. Though some brawn doesn’t hurt.”

Link swirled his wine and cast a quick, satisfied look over the spell-bound magistrates. “Lord Derrit, how many bushel tons a year does Fort Slate Port manage?”

Dessert was removed and the guests relaxing when Zelda was accosted by one of her magistrate’s daughters. Serving as a lady-in-waiting, Misly lounged around the palace, flirted with the soldiers, and occasionally ran errands for her queen.

“Why have I not been introduced to this prince before?” she demanded.

“He has been in the palace for scarce a single day.”

“And why,” she continued undeterred, “Why did you not tell me he was _beautiful_?”

Zelda turned to see her gazing doe-eyed at the Champion. “Perhaps because I hadn’t noticed.”

Misly rolled her eyes. “My dear and most illustrious queen, you are blind.”

Zelda laughed at her friend. For she was, no matter she was a fluffy-headed ninny. “He has other, more important attributes.”

“Like shoulders,” Misly murmured dreamily.

“Or a robust mining trade.”

“And those hands.”

“Really, Misly, you’re drooling.”

“Is he off-limits?”

“How do you mean?”

“This Champion thing. Has he sworn...?”

Zelda swatted her hand. “How should I know? That is a private matter between him and his Goddess.”

“Such a waste,” Misly mourned. She turned to Zelda with a bounce. “You won’t say no, if he proposes, will you?”

Zelda shrugged. “That depends on the terms Ordon offers.”

“‘Terms?’ I would take that man on any terms. I’d be happy in his hut drinking goat milk.”

Yuck. She preferred bathing in it, by far.

Just then, he looked up and saw Misly ogling. He met Zelda’s eyes and smirked.

The image of him, smeared with _besum_ dye the same color as his eyes, laughing as milky water ran over his skin, lit fire through her whole body.

Misly prattled on. Zelda hastily swallowed a large gulp of wine. Too large; she coughed, and Sheik was there at once.

“My lady?”

She handed him her glass. “I’m fine,” she strangled out. “Unwary swallow.”

Then the Chef appeared, worried she disliked his choice of vintage. A glass of water had to be fetched and the situation explained repeatedly until everyone was updated on her aspiration.

“You _are_ flushed,” Misly noticed, fanning her.

Of course she was, imagining such things. Her fault for sniffing the vial of _azual_ this morning, reminding her. Blasted boy. He strolled over. “What is the matter, my lady?”

Cursed, interfering, disrespectful, brave, funny, _beautiful_ man!

She spoke lightly. “If I knew it was this easy to stop a party…”

Ages later, she escaped to her room. Ciela undressed her and readied her for bed. Zelda toyed with the cuffs of her dressing gown, picking at a stray thread.

Sheik came to her and sat wearily. “Has it really only been a day?”

She agreed the day had lasted a year; the dinner an eon. How did one man cause so much turmoil?

But he was not just a man.

“Sheik?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Why do you trust him?”

“When you were in danger, he did not hesitate to defend you. On the plain, in Ordon.”

Zelda hugged herself. He would never hesitate when protecting those he was responsible for. He told her himself, that first day.

Since when had she become his responsibility? It was a support she longed to lean on. Metaphorically.

Fingers tingling, she shut the vial of _azual_ in a drawer and went to bed.

 

Was it an unspoken mandate all servants knew? To wake their masters at the bleeding crack of dawn?

“Champion,” Hunt said. “My lord, your toilet is prepared.”

Link swore into his pillow. Hunt only said, “And would you like a shave, sir?”

Link dragged himself up. He drank too much last night and berated himself for it. Hunt waited while he stretched, joints cracking.

“A pleasant sleep, my lord?”

“ _Ga’an welden ardik.”_

“That’s physically impossible, sir. Happen I’m not as flexible as you, though. Now, if you’ll sit.”

Link splashed warm water on his face and groped for a towel. Link let the man guide him, yawning and wishing he was back in his room in the King’ House. Or snuggled into a haystack, wrapped in a wool cloak. He’d take a flat rock on Mount Lanyru. Anything but upright and awake.

Hunt pulled his nightshirt over his head, still chatting. He suddenly stopped, mid-sentence. Link disentangled his arms. Hunt was staring at him. At his chest.

Link glanced down to his familiar scars. And the brand.

Hunt had gone pale. The Master Sword, still lying next to where he slept, roused to remind him of the man’s past.

**_You_ ** _agreed to work with the slaver._

Link handed him the tunic. “Ordona left it.”

Hunt took the garment with shaking hands. “I see, my lord.”

“Do you recognize it?”

 “Y-yes, Champion.”

It was a triangle with a second, smaller one cut out of the bottom. About the size of a large coin, it sat over his heart.

His next question was obvious. Hunt wilted into himself. “No, my lord. Not that clan.”

Link grunted and pulled his fresh tunic over his head.

It was an inauspicious start to the day.

He usually never thought about the mark. He didn’t remember getting it. Having been burned badly before, he could imagine the sheer, white agony of it. How anyone could do that to a child…?

Karn saw his face and stuttered into silence.

“C-captain?”

Link shook of his preoccupation. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Some of them bloods -I mean, noblemen from last night are asking to speak with you.”

Just what he needed. More staring, more reminders of his _otherness_ , his unbelonging.

 _You belong to Me_.

Their voices sang together, a chorus of reassurance.

Link set his shoulders. “Very well. Who’s first?”

 

He lost track of the following days. Endless meetings, scores of faces and names, titles, appointments, honorifics.

 Their attempts at subtlety would have been amusing if he had not heard the same thing hour after hour. If they did not have a beautiful young daughter (marriage optional), then they had a business venture (questionably legal) he was sure to be interested in. There were no qualms about discrediting their fellow magistrates and noblemen, if it gave an advantage.

Link broke into the queen’s chambers simply to hide from it all.

She was sitting reading a stack of reports. Her lamp burned low and Sheik was nowhere to be found.

“What do you need, Captain?”

“Some peace,” he said. “They are beating at my door.”

She was unsympathetic. “You’re the one claiming to be a prince.”

“A decision I am regretting more each day.”

She marked something and turned over a page. “And how do you find my court, Your Highness?”

“Complicated,” he admitted. “But in general, less pernicious than I was expecting.”

“I am pleased they surpassed your expectations.”

He frowned at her. Something was bothering her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. It couldn’t be the Shadow; the Sword had been quiet, only murmuring warning for a few of the courtiers.

“I am well.”

The low light hid it, but her eyes were heavy. “What’s happened?”

She made as if to speak, a sharp retort, he was sure. Then she sighed. “Father is unwell.”

Link had not yet been allowed to meet the aged king. “How so?”

“Just…just the disease worsening. It is not unexpected.” She pretended to read more of her reports, but instead played with her pen.

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “It is no matter. What have you learned this past week?”

Link let it go. “That I am glad to be no more than an orphaned goat herder.”

She didn’t smile. “And?”

“If I was the marrying type, I’d have my pick of your ladies-in-waiting. Some desperate father with twins hinted at concubines.”

She pushed back from her desk. “Shall I break it to them you are wed to your Goddess?”

“No use. They’ve done their research.”

“I am pleased they found something to motivate their studies, however inappropriate.”

He stopped trying to make her laugh. “Zelda, tell me what’s bothering you.”

She drew her wrap tightly around her and yanked the tie into a knot. “I’m tired, that is all. How are you getting on with your new soldiers?”

Link gave his own sigh of exasperation. “They are many things, but not soldiers.”

“My staff have noted their…uniqueness.”

“At least they have taken their oath to the Goddess to heart. I cannot turn around but trip over one of them.”

“You are here, alone,” she said, eyebrow raised.

He stood. “And I should go. Or Ordona knows one or all of them will find a way to sneak in here and offer to steal something for me.”

“Like what?”

“It took two days to convince Draal I really did not think absconding with your crown jewels was a way to promote peace.”

“The filthy beast!”

“Wanted to sell them to the Zora, fill Ordon’s coffers for our coming war.”

“What war?”

Maybe this would amuse her? “When I refuse your hand and you declare war.”

A small, startled laugh snuck out. “That’s not usually how it works.”

“I tried to explain that. But I doubt Draal has had the benefit of an education in classical Hylian literature.”

She hid her smile, but he was satisfied. “I’ll let you rest, my lady.”

The wall was still warm from the afternoon sun. He made his way carefully down, the many embrasures and ornaments in the stone allowing easy climbing. If he ever built a castle, the walls would be sheer and mortared smooth.

He stilled and waited for the guards to pass. Then he leapt from the queen’s tower to the next. He slid down the slate shingles and caught himself on a rain channel.

A kick of his feet and he swing out over the emptiness and under the overhang. There was an access hatch, likely for replacing roof tiles or cleaning windows. The dust on the hinges told him it had been many months since the last use.

Once inside, he slipped into the service corridors. Intent on their tasks, the palace staff’s eyes slid off him. He kept to the dark edges until he could move to the normal passageways.

Even these were quiet this time of night. He slowed, enjoying the stillness and the cool air inside the keep.

_Wait!_

He paused.

_Listen!_

Where? The murmur of voices drifted from his left. He followed them, his boots soundless.

It was a little used wing of the palace. Suites swathed for the farming season, store rooms, upper servant quarters. Link followed the Sword’s guidance until he found the source.

The door was too thick to make out the words. Two men, possibly.

 _Over there._ Link moved quickly, picking the door’s simple lock with a practiced twist. The walls inside were thinner. There was a connecting door.

The Sword identified the speakers first.

_Traitor._

It was Karn, the former smuggler. And one of the Magistrates, Jyuen, Jeren?

 _Jharen_.

“…will fulfill your end?” Karn was demanding.

Jharen’s deeper voice rumbled. “Of course. Full pardon.”

“ _And_ the money? Don’t do me good ending up a beggar again.”

“Every silver, as promised.”

“You back out, I’ll kill all a’you bastards.”

“My friend-”

“You’re not my friend.”

Karn left, shutting the door with a heavy thud. Jharen followed a few minutes later.

Link stilled his harsh breaths. Stupid, liking the man. But what deal had they struck?

_Kill him._

Not until Link learned what he needed to know.

 

They were all in his suite when he arrived.

Karn stepped forward, “My prince, I must-”

The Sword made a hissing sigh as Link drew it. Karn froze, chin straining up as the tip pressed into his throat.

“Give me a reason not to kill you.”

The others pressed together. Karn held up his hands.

“My prince-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” he barked. “Don’t _dare_ to pretend.”

Karn’s breaths came fast and shallow. He swallowed noisily. But he persisted.

“My prince, please. I must warn you.”

“What did Jharen promise?”

“How did…?” His skin dented as the pressure increased. “Please, my lord. Your life is in danger. The queen’s life-”

He choked off, collar twisted in Link’s fist. Karn’s toes brushed the carpet. “ _When_?”

“Tonight. Midnight. Kill the queen, claim she was poisoning the king.”

“How?”

“Assassins.  I am to let them in, claim to have a message from you. Implicate you, and you’ll be executed, too. A complete coup, claim the king is in his right mind.”

“Swear it! Swear to Ordona!”

“By the Goddess, my prince, it is true.” The Sword sang with his sincerity.  He staggered as Link released him.

“Pack, now,” he told the others. “Meet us at the stables on the south gate. Tell them I received an urgent message from Ordon. Have a horse ready for the queen.

“You, come with me.” Karn hurried to follow him into his bedchamber. “You will meet them as planned. Once you’ve let them in, meet the others at the stables. Where is Sheik in all this?”

“To be overwhelmed and killed.”

Link snorted. “Think highly of themselves.” Karn tightened the straps of his bracers.

“They are of the Yigga clan, sir. Very skilled. Please, be careful.”

Link settled the Sword on his back. “I will be.”

His heart raced, a familiar feeling of excitement and wariness. He loved it, knew it was dangerous, but still wanted it. The Goddess would shield him, he knew. But Their touch would only do so much.

He took a different path through the palace this time. Running along the inner wall, climbing and jumping from the watchtower to the lower roof. His steps were muffled, even on the flagstone reaches.

He danced around a watchman, turning to see what noise disturbed the night’s peace. How many bells had sounded last? Was she asleep or still sitting at her desk?

No guard looked on from the opposite tower. Nor from the crenellations below. Dead? Or a larger conspiracy?

Sweat ran down his neck as he pulled over her balcony railing. He stopped, hidden in the shadows. No movement inside. No light.

The door moved silently. He stepped in, feeling the stillness of the air. Perfume, paper, wood, beeswax.

Her breaths were just louder than the wind, a gentle motion in the darkness. She gripped his wrist, thrashing as his hand closed over her mouth.

“It’s me.”

The pale light of the night shone in her eyes. She stilled and he felt her tremors.

“You’re in danger. We must leave.”

He let her go then. She sat up. Putting his head next to hers, he asked, “Where is Sheik?”

“He sleeps next door. There is a hidden latch.”

Link gripped her arm to stop her. He heard something.

_They are coming._

“Hide.” She slid out of bed and rolled under the tall frame. Link took five precious seconds to place the pillows under the blankets, then stepped back into the darkness.

Voices outside. He knew Karn. Her maid protested. She cried out. Hurt? Movement from Sheik. Dare he warn the man?

“Your Majesty, I have urgent news!”

Link caught the concealed door before it slammed open.

“Hold!” he hissed. Sheik’s tall form towered over him.

He had the sense to whisper. “Gotkasi?”

“Assassins!”

“Your Majesty? It is most urgent!”

Flickers at the balcony. They were surrounded.

“Take the door,” Link ordered.

“Force it,” a new voice said.

The crunch of splintering wood mixed with breaking glass. Five, eight, twelve forms moved in, swathed in black.

Idiots. Brown was much better.

The first died without a sound. Only when his body thundered to the ground did they pause. Another fell, choking with Sheik’s knife in his throat.

The light from the doorway glinted off the Master Sword. It was not demon blood, but it was still satisfied.

_Left! Behind you!_

Link ducked and drove a dagger into the man’s thigh. Well trained; no scream, only a grunting cry of pain. Link silenced him and whirled to see Sheik fall back.

The Sword ripped through the air, the assassin’s neck, and plunged into the wall. Link jumped after it, wishing he had his straight blades. A dropped long knife would suffice.

He pulled Sheik to his feet. The assassins floundered, unsure of where the attack would come from next.

_Six more._

“I’m fine,” Sheik panted. “Get her out!”

Link wrenched the Sword free. His face was hot, exertion, blood. His blood?

_No. They know!_

“She’s gone!” one called.

“Here!”

The queen did not scream as they dragged her free. An assassin yelped, jerking back with her dagger through his hand. Good girl.

Link tackled them, slamming two of them to the ground. The long knife betrayed its clan, burying deep in one’s chest.

They tried to pin him. A jaw broke from his kick, an arm, a knee. The air was thick with sweat and cries of pain.

Still one stood.

Link kept her behind him as the last assassin circled. Where was Sheik? And Karn?

“Stand aside.”

 _Wait_.

Link did, following the movement of the thin blade he carried.

“Move, boy.”

_Wait._

Why?

“Get out of-” He choked, the gleaming tip of a sword piercing his chest. It withdrew and he fell. Sheik did as well.

“No!” She rushed to him.

He breathed raggedly, trying to stand.

“Go!” he urged. “There are more!”

“No, Sheik!”

“Please, Zelda. Link, take her.”

_They are coming!_

Where was Karn?

_Following your orders. Run!_

“I’ll be fine,” Sheik said, hand pressed to his side. “Go. I will find you.”

Link grabbed the reluctant queen around the waist. She fought him.

_Zelda, go!_

Their command was deafening. She froze, then turned to the door to Sheik’s chambers. “This way!”

She gripped his hand, heedless of the blood. They ran through Sheik’s small room. A wall of carved shelves blocked them. She twisted a sconce and a narrow slit opened.

Link managed to press through after her. Grateful he wasn’t in full armor, he took the lead should the assassins know this route.

“Left! Right!” The passage wormed through the palace. He lost his orientation until they drummed over a wooden floor.

“East Reaches!” she explained. His mental map righted itself. “Not that way!” She tugged him up instead of down.

“The stables!”

“Trust me!”

He did. How had not seen the gap in the walls? But it wasn’t large, barely wide enough for his breadth and requiring he stoop to pass through.

They broke out into a closet. He skidded to a halt before slamming against the door. She crashed into him. Holding her steady, they both panted in the darkness.

“What-?”

She pressed hot fingers to his mouth. He listened over the rhythm of his heart. Nothing.

Her whispers brushed over his cheek. “Stay here.”

“Absolutely not.”

She opened the door slowly. It was dim, but bright enough to see the opulent furnishings. She crept over the thick carpet.

Through a half-open door, he could see a man in the wide bed. He slept fitfully, the bedclothes trailing onto the floor.

Someone sighed and rose wearily from a chair. They twitched the blankets into place and returned to their seat.

She glanced back to him and he understood. He easily overpowered the watcher, holding pressure on his throat until he went limp. Carefully lowering him to the ground, Link watched as Zelda approached the bed.

She stopped for an agonizing moment. She stooped and kissed the old man’s forehead. He muttered but did not wake.

_The king._

Then she drew a chain from around her neck and used the key there to unlock a small chest of drawers. Jewels glinted in the candle lights, gold, silver. She took only a small box.

Link’s entire being hummed, every inch of him alive and eager. She cradled the package in the palm of her hand. He reached for it.

“Link, no.”

He touched it, feeling the slick wood.

 _My Champion, STOP_.

He did, confused, angry. Desperate. He wanted it, more than he wanted her, more than he’d desired anything in his life.

He could take it. She was weak, trembling. She was nothing to him. If she resisted-

“Link, please.”

There was a crack, a shift of air. He blinked and his hand dropped.

“What-?” He shook his head to clear it. “What are we…?” She stood before him, looking at him with fear in her eyes.

“We need to go, Link.”

What were they doing here? “Yes. Yes, come on.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him.

 

Alarm was spreading as they dropped into the stable yard. The guards and stablemen sat bound and gagged, a few blinking blearily with blood trickling down their faces. His men were ready with the horses.

“We haven’t much time,” Gregin said.

Link boosted Zelda into a saddle. “Can you jump?”

“I will not fall,” she promised.

He jumped to his own mount. “Did you find weapons?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Protect the queen.”

In this time of peace, the inner gates stood open. They raced through the little used tunnel leading to the palace’s pleasure gardens. Abutting one of the lesser arms of the Irritara, it led away from the main palace armaments.

Shouts of alarm rose as they passed the watchtower. But these warnings were ignored as torches and soldiers massed in the queen’s tower.

Link stayed by her, shouting directions to the man on point. Arrows ricocheted from the statuary.

“Sir, the wall!” one called back.

“Jump it!”

Praying to Ordona and Her sister that the horses would not baulk, Link drove them straight for it. Built low to allow a view of the river, they plunged over and into the water below.

Cold, but not swift, the horses startled for a moment, then set about swimming for the opposite shore. Soon they were heaving onto the rocks, water streaming from them in torrents.

“Don’t stop!” Link commanded. “Make for the bridge!”

This side of the city was newer, built more spacious for wealthier residents. Their private guards called challenge. The Ordonians swept by, the wind chilling their sodden clothes.

Soon they were at the bridge. These gates were locked.

“Fall back,” Link said. “Stay out of range! Man the gate!”

They slowed, allowing him to pull ahead. He spurred his mount, racing for the gatehouse.

More arrows cut the air around him. A bolt hit his chest, glancing off the mail hidden under his tunic and clattering to the ground.

Then he was past their covering range. The guards planted their spears. He held steady, waiting until the last moment. The horse jerked back, screaming as it danced on two legs. Link jumped free. His momentum carried him over the heads of the soldiers.

They followed his arc, mouths agape. He landed and rolled, Sword flashing. They fell, spears slashed in half, tripping over each other.

The stairs hampered his strikes. Trying to _not_ kill them didn’t help, either. They chased him up, herding him toward the rain of death waiting above. Shouts below told him his men were following his plan. The scrape of the gates opening rumbled under the clash of steel on steel.

He came through the upper door at a sprint. Steel arrowheads glinted in the moonlight. He dove forward, feeling the wind of their passing. They rattled off the stone walls, sparks flashing.

A good idea. He shoved through the panicking archers. He jumped onto the battlements themselves and ran to the brazier burning at its end.

Braced against the tower, he kicked with both feet. The guards yelped, unable to reach him past the crackling cinders. He kicked again. The signal fire tottered and fell to the wooden walkway below.

Would Hylia burn her own city? To protect this woman, he would demand it. Smoke billowed up, searing his face.

Iron on the stones below: hooves past the gate.

Link went straight over the side. The rope he grabbed burned his palms. He landed painfully and staggered up.

“Here!” He gripped the hand reaching down for him and swung up behind.

“Ride!”

Looking back, he could see them battling the flames. He sent a quick prayer of apology to the Goddess of princes and kings.

They reached the fields in minutes, but the horses were tiring. Link slowed them and made count. All were alive, including Karn.

“Injuries?” he asked.

“Shallow,” they assured him. Link wiped his own blood from his face. A narrow slice angling from his forehead back. An arrow, most likely.

“You six. Take the south road. Circle around past Keysmit and wait for us in the Downs.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get out of those uniforms by sunrise.”

“All respect, sir, but I think we know how to avoid the watch.”

Chuckles rumbled out of the darkness.

Link laughed with them. “ _Ta,_ then. Be safe.”

They left at a trot, moving off the road to follow the edge of a fallow field.

Link slid off his mount and went to Zelda’s. He helped her to the ground. She trembled violently, damp and dressed in only her nightdress. Hunt drew off his overtunic. Link pulled it over her head.

“We go on foot. You four, take the market road. Stay out of sight. We’ll meet you on the other side of Grenning in four days.”

Hunt protested. “You’ll be caught.”

“We won’t. Buy as many supplies as you can without raising suspicion.”

Hunt reached down. Link shook his hand.

“Be safe, my prince.”

 

Soon they were alone in the darkness. She sat quietly as he wrapped her feet in strips of his tunic. She made no complaint as they half-ran through the fields, scrambling over boulders and between fence rails. When her legs finally gave out, she clung to him while he carried her through the predawn.

And when the sun rose, she wept into his chest as they lay hidden in an abandoned hay barn, shivering in the chill of the morning.


	5. Taken

**Chapter Five: Taken**

Zelda dreamed of warm baths.

She woke slowly, knowing by the color of the light the sun was falling. Her sleepy pleasure soured. Nightfall meant cold and running and cramping legs.

But if he could do it, she could, too. She stretched and opened her eyes. He sat next to her, leaning back against the wooden wall. He had found this small outbuilding in the early hours. Likely used to store grain until it could be carried to market, it sat empty with the wheat sprouts still green and supple in the fields.

She watched Link sleep. The Sword rested across his outstretched legs. One hand held the hilt. One hand always held the hilt while he rested, always ready to spring into attack.

Did he ever fully relax? Could he?

She sat up. The heavy dress he had stolen for her was chalky with old chaff and dust. She stifled a sneeze.

He cracked an eye to glare at her.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

He grunted and settled back.

She went to the opening in the wall. A double door stood wide. Convenient for a wagon to back up to and off-load grain sacks. She stood in the sunlight and looked over this quiet corner of her kingdom.

He groaned as he stood. He was still limping slightly, especially when he first woke. He stood at her shoulder and followed her gaze.

“Good start to the season, _nahn?_ ”

“ _Ta_.”

He flashed a smile. “Hungry?”

“Starving. And I have to pee.”

His chuckle drifted after her as she found a hedge angled to block her from view. She rinsed her hands and face in an irrigation ditch flushed with rainwater and went back to find breakfast cooking.

Some early greens and a few pilfered cucco eggs did not satisfy her, but would be enough until they reached Grenning today

 “Should see the town by midnight. Third watch if the road is busy.”

She ate the omelet as neatly as she could, scooping it from the small cooking pot with her fingers.

“Do you think they will be there?”

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice.

She wished she could feel the same trust. His hand closed over hers, heedless of the mess.

“They will be there,” he said quietly.

Was he hearing her thoughts? Maybe her fatigue allowed her barriers to slip. She pushed them up as far as they would go. Him knowing her mind would be disastrous.

And not just because she was in love with him.

Who wouldn’t be, with a young man willing to shield her with his own body? A warrior with the kindest eyes, funny, patient. Handsome, unfairly so, as he tied his hair back and strapped the Sword in place.

He doused the fire and gave their camp a final inspection.

“Ready?”

She picked up her own small bundle and followed him into the evening.

This was much more his usual appearance, she was sure. Though his mail glinted at his collar, his tunic was drab, made of roughly woven fabric. A nondescript color between brown and green, it matched his rustic trousers and cloak.

The Sword had been wrapped to hide its lustrous sheath. Only his boots gave him away. Their fit was too exact, the leather too supple to be anything but quality.

She, on the other hand, looked exactly like a travel-worn goodwife. Her feet were shod in a pair of mismatched boots he had repaired as best he could. Her formless dress was not warm enough for the nights and too hot during the day. She sweated under her cloak as the sun drifted to the horizon.

He steadied her elbow as they crossed a wide irrigation channel. Not matter her sorrow and frustration in her circumstances, feeling his hands on her waist as she scrambled up an embankment was delicious.

She was clearly mad.

The road was hard-packed earth. The paving project begun by her father had not reached this far from Castle Town. And any road leading to Ordon would be left until last. No use giving their enemies easy access into the heart of Hyrule.

She peeked at her hereditary foe. He whistled some cheerful song that matched their pace. Had he done so while traveling across her country in years past? He walked with an easy lope she knew could become a sprint with barely a hitch. Eyes on the horizon, he seemed made for this toil.

_He was._

Did he know how fate had guided him? How choices from generations past led to no other moment but this? And if that was so, what did that mean for her? What was her place?

 _Trust him_.

She did. And barely resented being unable to not love him.

Hylia maintained that it need not be, only happened so in this meeting. And seemed almost baffled by it. Well, Zelda was, too.

Ordona’s voice grew clearer with every mile. She had no doubts. She, the Lady of unity and compassion, smiled upon them. Zelda prayed She would not whisper knowingly to her Chosen Hero.

_Why not? Is he not perfect?_

Zelda armored herself with his annoying habits. He swore fluently when frustrated. He was surly when he first woke. He was reckless and quick to fight. He looked down on her nobility with hypocritical scorn.

She could not forget the hunger, the furious, consuming want as he reached for her back in the palace.

By the Goddess, how she loved him.

 

Grenning had a lively nightlife for a farming town.

Holding her cloak tight around her, she followed Link through the gate to the cluster of buildings beyond. Music rang out from the largest of them.

“Someone’s birthing day, _nahn_?”

The dark streets were peppered with residents. Some talking, some snoring drunkenly, some…otherwise occupied.

She pressed closer to Link. He reached back and found her hand.

“At least they won’t remember us,” he said in a low voice, rippling with amusement. She giggled.

“Think they are in there?” she asked, meaning the building where the tramp of feet pounded to the music.

“One way to find out.”

Inside was dense with smoke. The sour, yeasty smell of beer floated in the air. Cooking meat, bodies, and the deep warm smell of the earth all blended into a thick miasma.

Her mouth watered as a man passed holding a platter of roasted meat. Had Link heard her stomach growl? He squeezed her fingers and led her up to the blazing fire.

The woman manning the spit grinned up at them.

“Late for travelers! What do you need, stranger?”

Link passed her a thin coin. “A meal? And a bed?”

“Inn’s full up,” she said, pocketing the money. “But you and your missus can stay in the cow barn. Spring hay came in last week.”

Zelda gratefully accepted the wooden bowl of meat bits and vegetables. Link led her to a dark corner.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to look around.”

She huddled as small as she could. Their merriment was happy, but she did not like being alone. She rebuffed several slurred requests to dance, firmly and with her knife gripped under her cloak.

One was more persistent than the others. He leaned over her, sloppily grinning and boasting of his manly attributes. She was not sure whether to laugh or cry.

He jerked back, stumbling as Link shoved him with a stiff arm.

“The lady is spoken for, friend.”

The man regained his balance. The hot challenge in his face oozed into sheepishness as he reassessed Link’s stature.

“Sorry,” he slurred. “Di’nae know.”

“Be off.”

Zelda knew her giggles were hysterical. He seemed to understand and drew her up.

“You’re too beautiful to leave alone.”

Her aching feet wanted to leap. Link moved expertly through the press. She clung to his hand, dodging stamping feet and wild gesticulations. There were well over a hundred people crammed into the great room, scores in the fenced inn-yard. Under the flickering torches, their features blurred into the smoke.

She could sense his frustration. Should they move on, wait until the next night? Hope they met up with them on the road?

A fiddle rose over the noise, the start of a new song. Link froze, turning to face the makeshift stage. Balanced atop the crates, the musicians roared the lyrics over the cheering.

She didn’t recognize the tune. What she could make of the words were bawdy. Link tugged her toward the door.

“Found them. Come on.”

“How?”

“‘Meet Me at the Well,’” he said. “It’s an Ordonian soldier’s song.”

That would explain the detailed description of the singer’s sweetheart. Once outside, he turned back the way they came.

“There’s a common well just beyond the gates.”

No one was in sight. They found a wagon left by the side of the road. The broken axle spoke to why it had lain long enough for grass to grow through the planks. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Link settled in to wait.

“What are they thinking?” Zelda wondered, head clearer in the cool night air. “Playing for the town? Won’t they be remembered?”

Link shrugged. “Likely not. Musicians and performers move around a lot. And it’s a good way to make some money.”

She felt anxious, for some reason, rushed. She crossed her heels and uncrossed them. “You speak from experience?”

He laughed, his shoulder moving against hers. “No one would pay to hear me sing. But I’m not half bad at guitar, if I say so myself.”

“I expect a performance as proof.”

“I don’t think any of the songs I know are fit for court.”

That was why; she didn’t want to find his men, did not want him to return to his role as prince and her as queen. For all the hardship of this journey, she had enjoyed the simplicity of it. She could pretend her life hadn’t come crashing down around her, that she hadn’t been disposed by traitors in her court.

A bird trilled. Link lifted a hand to his lips and answered, the sound uncannily like a hooting owl. Two forms rose out of the grass. Link sat still as they approached, but Zelda could feel the tension in his arm.

“Captain?”

“ _Ta_ , _tha wa’ar ander is?_ ”

“’Awking, lor, as is the smuggler way, _nahn_?”

Link chuckled. “Tell them to finish as soon as they can. We’ve miles yet to cover.”

The east was pinking before they had all gathered. Reeking of smoke and alcohol, the sometime musicians finally arrived and pooled their earnings.

“We’ve supplies for a fortnight,” a stout man was saying. “Bought some extra pack horses. Should make the Downs in two, three days.”

Link consulted a map. “Hunt, have you crossed the Bottomless Swamp? Or you Gregin?”

“I have,” Hunt said slowly. “When pressed. But that’s miles out of our way.”

Link rolled up the chart. “Not if we’re heading to Zora.”

Gregin cocked his head over. “Zora, sir?”

Zelda listened as he outlined his plan, wondering what machinations he had been developing these past days.

“We take the queen to Ordon, they’ll say we kidnapped her. She goes back to the palace, they’ll execute her. Even if her supporters rally, say based in Kakariko, we’re looking at civil war. We go to Zora, invoke the Assembly, she’s safe and the other races will support the legitimate ruler.”

“Why?”

“Because I tell them to.” The quiet assurance of his words reached back through the ages. He was the Hero, born again a thousand times. Destined to fight the endless battle and emerge victorious.

Gregin nodded, stroking his short beard. “Just one problem, my lord.”

“What’s that?”

“It will work.”

The knife gleamed in the predawn. Link deflected it off his bracer and the point aimed for his heart buried in his shoulder.

The Champion fell, a cry wrenched out of him. Hunt bellowed challenge, leaping forward. Gregin whirled and plunged the weapon into the man’s chest.

One of the others shoved her away. He and Gregin wrestled for control of the bloodied dagger. Link was on his feet again, Sword gleaming in his off hand.

Gregin slashed at his opponent’s face. The man fell back, screaming as blood gushed from beneath his hands. Gregin turned to face the Champion. He held up his hand.

The blast threw the Champion against the wagon. Zelda rolled, gravel cutting into her hands as she scrabbled to regain her feet.

Link was dazed, pushing himself up clumsily. Zelda stumbled forward, her own word of Power on her lips.

“No!” Gregin made a jerking motion. Her feet flew out from under her. “No magic from you, Your Majesty.”

Retching, she crawled forward. His magic pressed down on her, forcing her to the earth. Link fought against it, a snarl of fury curling his lip.

“Traitor!” he spat. Gregin kicked him over.

“You think I care about Ordon? That I wanted to go back to that dirty hovel?” Zelda whimpered helplessly as he stomped on Link’s wrist. The bones broke with a dull crack. Gregin kicked the Sword out of reach.

Link hissed breaths through clenched teeth, blood dripping from his mouth. “What did they pay you, Jharen and the others?”

Gregin picked up the Sword, protecting his hand with the edge of his cloak. “You think some Hylian blood gave me this power? You’re a fool, Gotkasi.”

He readied his knife.

“No, please!” Zelda begged. “He’s worth more alive!

Gregin hesitated. “You know nothing, girl.”

She made a wild guess. “Hyphestin will want him alive.”

He gave her a longer look. She shrank from the darkness in him.

Link was not going to be taken alive. He kicked at Gregin’s knee. The man staggered, swearing. His distraction released his spell. Link lurched up and dove for him.

They grappled, but Link was too injured to match him. He fell with a second slash to his chest. The knife cut through the Goron mail with a shriek.

Zelda was loosed from the pressure holding her. Gregin kicked Link, snarling expletives. The Champion stayed down, breathing noisily. She ran to him and threw herself between them.

“He won’t fight any more,” she promised. “Let him live. Please. I will do anything.”

Gregin spit in his rage. “I’ll eat his heart!”

Whoever he was, he wasn’t completely human, not anymore. But she stood her ground.

“Please, Gregin,” she pleaded. “He can’t fight anymore. I won’t fight. Please, just let him live.”

Gregin considered. He cocked his head, listening. “Very well, Your Majesty. Fortunately for you, he is preferred alive. Or maybe not so fortunate.”

He shoved her back. He jerked Link up by his collar. Whatever magic he had used had done unseen damage. Link was pale, his eyes losing focus.

“Hear that, Champion? Try to escape and I’ll make you watch as she begs for death. Understand?” He dropped him and Link fell in a heap.

Zelda knelt by him, feeling for his heart. Her hands came up sticky with blood.  She ripped her dress and pressed the thick fabric into the wound. He groaned, convulsing under her.

“Stay with me, Link,” she whispered. Her hands grew warm, her own life force seeping into him. “I’m here, stay strong.”

Gregin dragged her away. “Get on a horse.”

She wrenched from his grip. “Let me ride with him.”

“Do as I say, or-”

“You say he’s wanted alive? He won’t be if he keeps bleeding.”

Gregin sneered. His knife still dangled in his hand. She stood firm, refusing to show this beast her terror.

“Whatever you did to him, he’s too weak to ride. Take the wagon. I’ll keep him alive. You’ll need the supplies.”

He had to make a choice. The sun was rising. Soon, farmers would be moving along this road.

“Do it.”

She scrambled into the tiny wagon bed.  Gregin cursed as he hefted Link’s weight in after her. Link made no sound as he fell. The wagon lurched forward. She pressed the makeshift bandage to his chest and prayed.

 

_Wake up, Link!_

He groaned, seasick.

_Link! Champion! Awake!_

He tried to breathe. Icy spears pressed into his chest, slicing through him.

_Link!_

“Link?”

That whisper could rouse him more than Their most insistent command.

“Link. Wake up.”

He tried. A power was holding him down, dragging at his mind. She lifted his head. Something smooth and cool brushed his mouth.

“Drink this.”

He coughed, mouth too dry to work. She stroked his cheek and it was almost as he imagined it. His dreams had less pain, though. Less of lots of things, actually. Like clothing.

“Just a sip,” she urged. He managed to get some of the liquid in his mouth. Water.

“Another.”

Blast the woman, didn’t she know he was trying? He opened his eyes to see her. Her face angled over him, upside down.  That was wrong.

So was the blood on her cheek. And the streaks from her tears.

“What…?”

She shushed him, with a scared glance to the side. “Don’t talk.”

He didn’t want to. He had been unconscious for a reason, so he couldn’t feel his injuries. They rose up strident, a chorus of pain.

Shoulder, chest, wrist. And something else, a dull fire inside him, pulsing with his heart.

“Gregin?” he ground out, teeth clenched.

She nodded, looking again to the front of the lurching wagon. That explained his motion sickness.

Rage gave him strength. “Where is he?”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. Of the bonds he had endured, this constraint held him tighter than any other.

“You are too weak. He has the Sword. He has magic. I don’t recognize it.”

Link did. It was the Shadow. It chewed at the edges of him, trying to worm through his defenses.

“Drink.” He obeyed, feeling better after his painful swallows.

“The others?”

“Dead.”

“Where are we?”

Her hands trembled. “He’s taking us into Druynia.”

Well, that was where he had wanted to go for the past season. Preferably not with a broken arm and ribs, but all the same, really.

Speaking of which. She had set the bowl aside and lifted his left wrist. The splint supported his swollen fingers, mottled purple and green.

“How long?”

“Three days. I thought-” Her voice broke. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

Would it be agony to kiss her? It seemed a small price to pay to feel her lips on his. Gregin intervened.

“Shut it!” A rock went whistling by, missing her head by inches.

She ducked down and huddled between the sacks piled in the wagon bed.

“He still wants to kill you.”

“Well, I want to kill him.”

“I promised you would not fight.”

He glared at her. How could he not fight? He _had_ to fight, couldn’t she see?

“Or what?”

“He’ll kill me.”

A different sort of fury heated him. How _dare_ she make promises like that! Did she not know the power of such things? That watching her die would do something much worse to him than death?

She offered him some stale bread. He took it, his right arm stiff and fiery. She fussed with the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Where was his hauberk? How had it not protected him?

“Gregin has it,” she told him. “He has a knife that cuts Goron steel.”

Link backed his thoughts away from her. How much could she sense from him? Was it the Shadow, eroding his mind? Some things a man wanted to keep private. Like how the short hairs by her ears curled distractingly. Or how the motion of her breathing shifted the fabric of her dress.

He squeezed his eyes shut, sparks flaring into his headache. He was delirious. Or mad. Or in love.

Probably just delirious.

He lay back, already too weary to stay awake. She brushed his hair from his forehead, wary eyes on Gregin’s back. Her repetitive strokes were hypnotic. Did she realize she was doing it, or was it habit now, a caress she had done thousands of times while he lay unconscious, his head cradled in her lap?

He couldn’t stop his smile and tasted coppery blood from his cracked lips. He fell asleep, knowing his happiness was as insane as it was portentous.

 

Link sat up against the side of the wagon. His hands were bound in front of him, his ankles chained to the iron frame of the wagon. Inconvenient, but not impossible.

Gregin was taking no chances. Zelda had a rope around her neck. The other end knotted around the wagon frame next to where his shackles were fastened. A strong kick, and she would be strangled, dragged to death behind the lumbering wagon, just out of his reach.

So he sat as they crossed the Watch.

The road grew smoother, rather than rougher. He had never been this far into Druynia. His imagination had supplied the usual imagery from the tales of magic ravaged lands.

It looked very much like Ordon to the south. Forested hills rising to grassy meadows. Farms, small villages.

But no people.

His neck itched, the pressure of eyes on his skin. Zelda huddled next to him. Her face was white and her lips bloodless.

Even Gregin hurried. He swore at the plodding horses. They kicked to a rough trot now and again, nearly throwing the queen to her death.

He gripped her tightly to keep her in the wagon bed. The edges of his broken bones rubbed with numbing, glassy pain.

She had tried to heal them, but he stopped her. It was killing her. He had seen it yesterday, when he woke the second time. Half-dreaming, he had given her hands on his chest no thought, other than how he could imagine nothing more exquisite than her skin on his.

He had tasted her suddenly, summer honey and warm liquid sunshine. He’d opened his eyes, wondering if he had died and this was paradise. Then he saw the sweat on her face and the sick cast to her skin.

“Stop!” he had snapped, pushing her away.

She snatched her hands back and his pain came rushing forward. He panted raggedly, the world once more glaring and harsh.

“Don’t,” he told her. “It’s dangerous.”

“You need healing.”

“You’re not strong enough.” It had taken four of Ordon’s best healers to repair the damage the last time he was injured like this.

“But-”

“ _No.”_

It wasn’t the worst he’s endured. The Shadow battering him was wearying. But Ordona and Hylia helped him resist.

Maybe that was the touch on his neck. The Shadow watching him, gloating.

Gregin turned at a crossroads.

Where were the people? And if they had been killed by the _crytch_ hordes, where was the evidence?

She was sleeping, exhausted from their fortnight of adversity. She looked thinner, too, hollow spaces carving out her face.

The road was clear, the bridges intact.

Where were the people?

The trees closed around them. This was a remnant of the Faron Woods to the west. The trees smelled old. The horses picked up their pace without urging. The eyes were stronger here.

The sky grew dark as the Shadow closed over them.

He caught the glint of light through the vegetation. He shook her awake.

“There’s something ahead,” he whispered. Gregin did not like talking.

She shifted uncomfortably and scowled. “Can’t be worse than this infernal cart.”

They reached the building about an hour later. Link wasn’t sure how to categorize it. Not quite a castle, much more than a manor house.

Gregin reigned in the horses and climbed down. He tugged Zelda to the ground and held his knife at her throat.

“Try me, Gotkasi.”

Link stared him down. “Kill her and see what happens next.”

Gregin’s lip curled, but he gave off his posturing. He doubted the man would believe him, but he wanted to meet this Hyphestin. He wished Zelda on the other side of the continent, but there it was.

Link grunted as he climbed down. A week in there left him stiff and limping. His shoulder and ribs protested with every step. His hand throbbed.

The hilt of the Sword glinted in the torchlight. If he could reach it…

Inside was brightly lit with lamps hanging from the ceiling. A long, cavernous room with pillars marching to the far wall. Still no people, no servants. No _crytch_.

Gregin led them to the center of the room and waited.

Link knew he was approaching, could feel it like slime on his skin. Realized he was growling, teeth bared as rough, bestial noises tore at his throat.

The Enemy.

 _Ganon_.

 

Gregin dropped her ropes to hold Link back. He staggered as Link surged forward, injuries forgotten.

The sorcerer watched with a smile playing on his thin lips.

“You must be the Champion,” he said. It was a light voice, pitched high.

Gregin wrapped the chains around a pillar to keep them taut. They slipped link by link, as the Champion strained against them.

“You can’t help it, can you?” Hyphestin said, still amused. “Is their compulsion so strong?”

Zelda moved forward. “I demand you release me. This is an act of war that will not go unpunished.”

Hyphestin glanced to her, then returned his gaze to where Link fought to reach him. The eyes were round, hungry.

“You _are_ beautiful,” the man said. “Damaged, but so precious.”

Zelda stepped sideways to shield Link. “What do you want with us?”

Hyphestin reluctantly broke his attention from the Champion. “With you? Nothing.”

Already terrified, she stiffened her spine though her mind screamed warning. Something was not right.

Hyphestin pointed to Gregin. “Free him. Give him the Sword.”

“But-”

Gregin choked, chains crashing to the floor as he scrabbled at his neck. Link leapt, the Sword radiant.

Hyphestin leaned aside. His hair ruffled as the Sword slashed down. A humming whir and the blade reversed. Hyphestin danced back, laughing delightedly.

“Yes!”

Gregin hung limp, tongue swollen and purple. White light flashed as the Sword cleaved through a marble pillar.

“Link! Stop!” she screamed. “Link, please!”

He shook her off, face blank. His eyes were gone, the same emptiness as when he remembered his childhood.

“Stop, Link! Something is wrong!”

Hyphestin watched greedily. “No, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “Everything is finally as it should be.”

Link struck with wordless cry of hate. Hyphestin caught the blade. Gripped the sacred steel in his hands, blood dripping from the wounds.

“Everything will be made right.”

The Sword shattered.

Zelda pressed her hands to her ears, blocking his scream. Link fell to his knees, body arcing in pain, the agony of remembering. Thoughts, memories, like sparks from a searing fire burned through her. The storm of it shoved her back.

Hyphestin’s breathless laughed mocked him.

“A curse, in the end.”

Link shuddered, head hanging, hands clenching his tunic, his chest over his heart. His cries of pain grunted out through bloodied teeth.

“Remember it all, little one. See now what they did to you?” Hyphestin’s voice was changing. “Do you remember who you are?”

The Champion regained his feet. Blood seeped from his wounds, soaking the bandages.

 _Stop him_! _Please!_

 “They cannot, little queen. He is theirs no longer.” He was growing, gathering.

She reached for Link as he jumped. Her fingers brushed his arm, closing on nothingness.

The Beast was not formless in this place. Shadows drew to him, snuffing the lights, twining up his limbs. Link’s limbs, where he hung in the Beast’s grasp.

Zelda screamed as the heavy paw reached for his head. But it only touched him, stroked him, laughing as Link thrashed, snarling.

“You’re more animal than man, aren’t you? What did they do to you, little one? Who hurt you so badly you forgot yourself? We will burn them from existence.”

“Fight him!”

The shadows clutched at him, engulfing him.

“You cannot fight it, little prince.”

“Don’t let him in!”

“Ah, but I am already in you, aren’t I?” The shadows had reached his face, his mouth. “I have been, all along.”

The darkness plunged into his eyes.

 Zelda anchored her mind, the shadows swirling around her, consuming, destroying. She clung tightly to her power, resisting as it tried to drag her in.

She sank to the ground in the silence after. Numbness, not cold, but nothingness surrounded her. The room came back slowly. The smooth floor. The light, the pillars.

He stood alone. She stared through bleary eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

And laughed.

The floor glinted. The fragments of the Sword stirred and lifted. They reformed, knitting themselves together. But it no longer reflected as it had, clear and brilliant. Darkness churned beneath the surface. He grasped the hilt.

He turned and saw her.

“You?” he said.

“Link?”

“There is no Link,” he said lazily, making a travesty of his lyrical drawl. “There never was. An illusion, an idol you built to cower behind.”

 “What have you done to him?”

“Did you think your love would save him? That your _mercy_ would shield him? It made him weak! When he was born to be a god, you made him your slave. A champion, you called him. Your _Hero_. Lies he believed to his destruction.”

He lifted something from his head. The crown of Ordon. The diamond sparkled in his palm. He crushed it in his fist and dropped the stone to the ground.

“You took from him his greatest power. In the name of what? Compassion? Try guilt, little queen. Knowing you were the reason for his suffering. Did you think centuries of waiting, of planning, could be thwarted in a single act? That Naming him would change who he was destined to be?”

Hot tears burned her eyes. “Please, Link, come back to me.”

His hand gripped her jaw, fingers biting as he forced her head up.

“Would he want to, little queen? For what? You? Your pathetic kingdom? Tell me what you would say to him. Maybe it will make him strong.”

She couldn’t, not to those eyes, to the snarling mockery in him. He smiled, pulling her closer.

“What, embarrassed? Still denying your weakness? See how useless it is? How about something stronger?” She gasped, desire pooling in her chest. “He feels it, too. Sickening, really, the way you pant for each other like beasts.

“You can have him,” he said. His voice modulated, more like him. “I would have you, my queen.”

 His fingers became caressing, gentle. “Join me. Give me your power. You will rule as queen everlasting. I will conquer this world for you. I love you, Zelda.”

She wrenched out of his hands. “No!”

He struck her, a blinding crack that threw her to the ground. She choked on the blood filling her mouth.

“Worm,” he snarled. “I will take it what is mine.”

She didn’t know her own screams as he reached into her, to her very soul, and gripped it. She held it fast, clinging to it, resisting. But she was not strong enough.

He ripped the Wisdom from her.

It was his laugh, echoing back from the silence, terrible in its triumph.

“Always the weakest of the Three. Did you never want more? Or are you satisfied in your nothingness?”

He touched her again, stroking the broken bones of her face.

“Can you see now, my queen? Do you understand?”

 She lay shivering on the floor, the cold stone wet with her tears. “I will stop you.”

“You are a fool. Nothing can stop me. Your defiance is petty. Persist, if you will. But know this: you have thwarted me time and again. But now you are alone. You will watch me claim what is rightfully mine.

“See the flames, little queen, and know you are the cause.”

He was gone.

 

She crawled forward. She had to escape, to warn them. The Enemy was free. He had taken Link.

She panted, sobbing and whimpering with the pain of it. His pain, his memories, cut into her own, burning where they touched her. She was alone and no one would come to save her.

Her hand closed around something sharp. The diamond, lying broken in a wreckage of gold. The most perfect and pure stone ruined by his hand.

Her sobs fell into the emptiness.

“Why didn’t you save him? Why did you leave him alone?” She raged at the Goddesses, screaming. “He was just a boy, a child! _Why?_ ”

There was no answer.

She couldn’t fight anymore. Too much of her was in him, too weary and heartbroken.

He was lost and their hope with it.


	6. The Warrior Queen

**Chapter Six: The Warrior Queen**

She woke in her room in Ordon.

She stared at the beamed ceiling, the wood dark with age. This was impossible. She sat up and her head swirled.

It had to be a trick. The scent of beeswax and clean linen, the quiet hum of the city, the sunlight streaming from the window.

She started as the door opened. Firn came in, carrying a tray. The woman smiled.

“You are awake!”

Zelda scrambled back. “Get away from me.”

Firn placed her load on a small table. “Your Majesty-”

“Where am I? What is this?”

“You are safe.”

She wanted to believe the old woman. Zelda cringed back, cornered like an animal as Firn approached.

“You are safe,” she murmured. She grasped Zelda’s outstretched hand, held it gently. “I will not hurt you.”

The woman’s power was weak but steadfast. She gave willingly what she had. It could not fill the void, but it soothed the pain.

Zelda sobbed into Firn’s chest.

“He’s gone. He’s gone and I couldn’t save him!”

Firn stroked her head. “It is not your fault.”

“I am weak, useless. He was right, I am _nothing_.”

Firn shook her. “You are a queen.”

“He’s gone and I am alone!” All her fears came tumbling out, the guilt eating her. “His death is on my head. I hid it from him and he was not strong enough. _I_ did this.”

“No, my dear. Ganon did this.”

She thought she could never stop. Even when her voice was gone and her eyes swollen and dry, she mourned.

Firn sat by her through the soft afternoon. Face to the window, her age weakened eyes were steady and bright.

“There is always hope,” she said. “Even if you must make it for yourself.”

She couldn’t cry forever, even if she wanted to. She lay on the bed, weak and exhausted. She wanted to close her eyes, stay hidden in this little room. Could she will herself into nothingness?

His voice, his lips, speaking her greatest fears. _You are weak. Pathetic. Nothing._

She sat up. “Does Ordon know?”

“Yes.”

How could she face the man? His son was worse than dead. It would have been easier to present the king with the prince’s lifeless body.

She stood up. “How did I get here?”

“A man named Karn and others. They brought you from the Druynia. Followed your trail when you and Link did not arrive to meet them.”

“Are they still here?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Zelda clenched her fists and went to the dressing screen. The copper tub sat empty. She swallowed, then yanked her nightshirt over her head.

Ordon’s grief had aged him. She went to him, hesitant. He embraced her.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

“It is not your fault,” he told her roughly.

“I couldn’t save him.”

He gripped her arms and spoke sternly. “It is _not_ your fault.”

She nodded, unable to speak the lie, that she believed him.

The nation mourned. Sorrow and fear met her at every turn. The central plaza of the city now held a pyre, nestled at Ordona’s feet.

No body lay there, but offerings. Blue ribbons, flowers, trinkets.

“When will you light it?” Zelda asked the king.

“At the next new moon.”

The waning sliver in the western sky leered at her. Her breath stopped, panicked.

“Don’t.”

Ordon looked at her. “‘Don’t?’”

“He’s not dead.”

Ordon spoke gently. “He fought valiantly, Zelda, and had done so for many years. It is no dishonor to mourn-”

“He’s _not_ dead.” She clenched her fists to stop them from dashing the offerings to the ground. “He’s still fighting. He still mans the Watch.”

Ordon shook his head. “We will resist as long as we can. Maybe Ordona will bless us with a new Hero-”

“ _No!_ ” They were attracting stares. “ _Link_ is the Hero!”

“Link is gone.”

Something sharp and fiery bubbled up in her, rising from the gash in her soul. “I will find him.”

“Zelda-”

“I will find him and bring him home. I will not abandon him, like so many others.”

Ordon watched her with wide eyes. She straightened, still wounded, but needing to fight.

“I will save him.”

Her determination reflected in Ordon’s eyes. “And if he can’t be saved?”

Zelda ached with sorrow but spoke the vow all the same. “Then I will destroy him.”

 

Cantor could not stand. Zelda knelt by his chair and gripped the thin hand he held out to her.

“My poor boy,” he mourned. “What has that monster done to him?”

She kissed his hand gently. “I _will_ save him.”

“But how?” He listened, filmy eyes roving over the room. “Ordona does not guide me in this.”

“I will find a way,” Zelda promised.

Cantor blinked away tears. “I fear he is lost to us.”

Zelda embraced him. “He loves you, Cantor. You made him strong. He will fight.”

The temple was empty. The long days afield sent the citizens to their beds early. The temple attendants had shuttered the lamps, leaving only two glowing by the main altar.

Zelda went to it and stood looking up at the Goddess.

The hush fell to silence.

She turned, hair rising as she recognized this place. Was the Shadow so strong as to enter even this sanctuary? In Hyrule, she had assumed Link had drawn him, given him entry. _I’m already in you,_ he’d said _. I always have been._

“It was a risk.”

Zelda jerked around. A man stood in the doorway. A warrior, helmed and armored. Behind him, the moonlight cast white beams across the city.

She straightened. “You knew?”

“That he would fall to the Darkness? No.”

Her fury gave her courage. “He is not weak!”

 “But not strong enough.” It turned away. Maybe a shade of grief in the toneless voice, “Sometimes, they are not strong enough.”

“Wait!” He was ether under her hand. But he stopped and turned to look down at her. “What can I do?”

“For him? Nothing.”

“I will not accept that!” she raged. “I will not let the Enemy take him from me!”

“He is the Enemy.”

“No! We must-”

“You do not understand. He _is_ the Enemy.”

Her heart would not let her believe it. “He is the Hero.”

The shade’s shoulders drooped. “I had hoped he would be.”

Zelda listened, still disbelieving, as he spoke.

“The battle we fight is ancient and endless. This land, changed so much over the centuries, has seen war after war. My queen…” His voice softened, almost alive again. “My queen ruled from the Silver Throne in the Castle by the Sea. With Wisdom and Power in her grasp, the land prospered. I served her faithfully, with Courage. When Ganon came, seeking the Triforce, the destruction…Even without his Power, his might was unfathomable. We defeated him, but at terrible cost.”

Zelda looked out over that glistening sea, saw the Light shining from the spire, a beacon. It flared, radiant, then faded.

“Countless times, the Hero and the Enemy have met. Many times, the Light prevails. This time, we have lost.”

Zelda sank to her knees, tears dripping to her palms. Useless hands, that could not heal nor defend him.

“Why was he chosen?” she asked. “If you knew-?”

The Ancient Hero turned away from the darkened tower.

“Your Link was-”

“He was a choice.”

Zelda turned. Ordona stood by Her altar, Her beautiful face set with grief. “A choice We made.”

Zelda stood. “Why?”

“When the Enemy grows strong, a Hero rises. This time…this time Ganon controlled the prophecy.”

“How?”

Ordona’s eyes were clear blue, like Link’s. But endless and unfathomable. “Because he has Power.”

Zelda could not understand. “But Link was the Hero. He has Courage. He could stand against him.”

“No.”

Zelda clenched her fists, realizing the truth. “You sent him to fight Ganon with _nothing_?”

Ordona looked past her. The tower was gone. A stone citadel stood in its place, the sea now a jungle.

“The prophecy is never the same twice. As infinite as the stars, the Triforce chooses its Champions. This time, there was a complication.”

The citadel burned. A battle raged in the plain below.

“The child was taken, lost to his people. A little prince, drowned in slavery.”

Zelda was sick with shame. Slavery in _her_ land, sold like an animal for labor. Beaten, starved, abused in ways she would never know. Fertile ground for Ganon.

“No, dear one.”

_Did you think centuries of waiting, of planning, could be thwarted in a single act? That Naming him would change who he was destined to be?_

_“You_ did this? _You_ took him from his family?”

The Goddess nodded.

What could be said? How could she express her horror, the betrayal?

“We waited for the Hero. But he never came. We needed to act, or else all would be lost.”

“You could not know! A Hero could have been chosen!”

“We could not take the chance.”

“He was a child!”

“Everyone begins as a child.”

“It was cruel.”

“Crueler than leaving him for Ganon?”

Zelda could not speak, her breaths ragged.

“I did what I could for him.” Ordona said sadly. “I guided him to a home, a family. Love.”

“He _never_ felt he belonged,” Zelda snapped out. She knew this in her very soul, though how, she wasn’t sure. “He always knew he was weak.”

“And yet he fought valiantly, time and again. He fought his own fate until the end, my brave, selfless Champion. He weakened the evil destined to wake. Hopefully, it is enough to carry us until the Hero will come.”

The boy walked across the wilderness. Head down, with heavy steps. He stumbled, starving and thirsty, his eye milky as he looked to the distant mountains.

Alone.

Zelda turned to the Goddess. “No.”

“My child, it is written. He is the-”

“ _No!_ He is _not_ the Enemy. _Ganon_ is my Enemy and I will take Link back! I will not abandon him like so many others. Like _You_.”

The Goddess measured her. “You are not the Hero.”

“Neither was he, yet You demanded he sacrifice himself, threw him into the battle he could never win.”

The Goddess of peace grew angry. “I did what was needed to protect _all_ My people. Surely you understand, young queen.”

Fury could not heal her hurts, but she would still use it. She lifted her chin.

“I will save the man I love.”

“At what cost?”

It was a cruel choice she refused to make. “How many will die if I do not try? He has Power _and_ Wisdom. If he finds Courage…”

“Impossible. Only the Hero can wield it.”

“You named him,” Zelda countered. “You changed his fate. How can we know what he is capable of?”

The wound he had left throbbed. Clearly, she had been too weak to hold it. She was not destined for Wisdom, it seemed. What did that make her? Had he spoken the truth, that this time he would gain absolute power?

“Lady, if I may.”

Ordona gestured permission to the Ancient Hero.

“I would not see him fall. I have seen his spirit. I…I have kinship with him.”

“You would aid this girl?”

“What choice do we have? I know his power. He will destroy everything. If I can prevent that, I must try. Death does not end the Hero’s call.”

Zelda heard these words as a chorus, in lost tongues and voices young and old. Countless Heroes, joined as one, a single purpose.

Reality dampened her hope. “He has Power and Wisdom, _and_ the Master Sword.”

“Then you will need a weapon to counter the Shadow Blade. A sword to pierce the darkness. Give me the stone.”

Zelda drew the broken diamond from her dress. It seemed to hold his image, damaged, but still strong.

Ordona took it. Light shone from her hands. Zelda had to look away, the blinding power heating her skin, moving through her, burning the taint of evil she still carried in her heart.

She sighed, now realizing how it had weighed on her. Ganon knew this battle, had many weapons; she was just learning. She must be on her guard at all times.

“For you, child.”

It was a beautiful weapon. The graceful lines of the slender blade curved into the hilt. The diamond shone at the cross guards, still cracked.

“Yet not without beauty or value.”

Zelda took it. It was heavy, she could not hold it straight. “I do not know how to use it.”

The Ancient Hero drew his blade. “Then we have not a moment to waste. The battle approaches. You must be ready, Hero.”

 

She staggered into the dawn.

Every part of her ached. Her wrists and arms were hot and numbed, a promise of agony tomorrow. The sword made a ringing sound as it dragged behind her, the point scoring the stone steps of the temple.

She walked blindly on.

“Your Majesty?”

She stopped. A man stood before her.

“Your Majesty, what…” He seemed stunned, his eyes huge. “Where…?”

There were others. They whispered. Pressing close, they reached out to her. Touched her. She was too tired to brush them off.

“What is this?”

That was Ordon. She turned to face him. He checked.

“What in Ordona’s name?”

What had the Goddess done? Zelda looked down at herself. The Champion’s Tunic glowed in the morning sun.

The crowd grew quiet.

“Hail, Champion!”

It started from the back, resolute.

“Hail, Champion!”

“Hail, Champion of Ordona!”

She went to Ordon.  He bowed low.

“Hail, Champion.”

 

“No! Keep your point up!”

Zelda parried and skittered back, overwhelmed by the Ancient Hero’s blow.

“Again!”

The impacts had long since numbed her hand.

“Again!”

She had lost track of how many nights. Her legs shook with fatigue.

“Again!”

Her blade spun out of her grip. She stared down the Hero’s sword, breathing deep, hungry breaths.

He was frustrated, though it was rare to show.

“Retrieve your weapon.”

She lurched to her feet and ran as fast as her aching legs would allow. Had he done this same thing?

“We had years and he started young. You have the disadvantage of age and sex, as well as lack of aptitude.”

The blisters on her hands cracked as she gripped the hilt.

“Again.”

Sometimes she was aided by her own frustration. She lost her temper more than once, screaming in fury as she hacked wildly at imaginary foes.

The Hero met these outbursts with his ubiquitous dispassion. Today he didn’t stop her but stood watching as she slammed her blade into the stone floor again and again.

She fell, panting, exhausted to the ground.

“A calm mind,” he reminded her for the thousandth time. “Again.”

The fatherly kindness of Ordon’s soldiers was almost worse.

“Let’s try a lighter bow,” Davin said. He took the bow she could barely draw and handed her what was clearly a child’s weapon. “We’ll build up to the weight.”

When her knives clattered uselessly off the target, when she fell, nose bloodied to the ground, when her horse threw her, his voice echoed in her heart.

_You are weak. You don’t belong. You are nothing._

She spat mud from her teeth and pushed away from the dirt.

“Your Majesty! Are you alright?”

How could it be alright? When her heart ached with her failure, with his loneliness?

Her ankle was sprained. She sat looking at it, the pain dull and distant. At the bruises on her legs as the soldiers inspected her injury.

“Try to stand.”

She did with their help and limped to where her recalcitrant mount waited.

“Maybe we should be done for today,” Sorrint suggested.

The boy huddled against a rock, the wind that fueled the dust storm wailing as it scratched at his face and arms.

“No.” She dragged herself into the saddle. “Do it again.”

But the worst was Enon.

The boy spoke to her with absolute respect. He never blamed her, never demanded an explanation. But she could see the anger in his eyes. The disappointment. The broken promise, knowing his idol would never come home.

_The false idol you built. You can only blame yourselves._

Zelda shook her head, irritated by the creeping doubts. She knew well enough her failures without his whispering.

 

“You must be ever vigilant.”

The Ancient Hero’s voice was lost in the mist. Zelda waited, blade ready. No sound gave his position.

“The _crytch_ move with the shadows.”

There were no shadows here. The floor faded to nothingness in every direction.

White fire sliced through her shoulder. She bit off her scream, staggering forward. He stood behind her, blade flashing as he straightened.

“Death waits for you.”

The pain faded. Not gone, but not real. She set herself. The Hero stepped back into the mist.

“Death is always waiting.”

Some nights she thought death would be a welcome release from this torture. Had he wished for it? Or could his child’s mind not fathom it, other than the hope to end his pain?

_Behind, right!_

She whirled, too slow to stop the strike. Deflected, the edge grazed her cheek, leaving a line of fire.

The Ancient Hero was surprised. “Well done. How did you know?”

Her hands trembled from a different sort of fear. “I didn’t.”

He stood at rest, hands folded atop his pommel-stone. “Explain.”

“I…I heard a voice.”

“Whose voice?”

“I don’t know.”

He watched her from empty eyes. “Again.”

She was struck twice more. Then, _Above!_

Her own blade did cut her palms as she braced the sword to block the downward blow. The pain of it drowned in triumph.

“Enough,” he said. “Rest and return.”

She sank to the floor of the temple. She wiped her forehead, forgetting her wounds until her hands came away crimson.

Would they be gone by dawn? Her wounds earned here usually vanished by daybreak, leaving an ache to remind her of the lesson.

She walked half-asleep to the door of the temple. The sword didn’t drag anymore. She noted that with pleasure.

Hot wind blew her sweaty hair from her face.

She stilled, confused by the predawn chill on her skin. The view across the valley wavered and the temperature with it. She focused, wanting to see.

He stood in the wide, low room. Moonlight filtered through thick shades, casting silver shadows. The heat waved over her, dry and sharp with dust.

“Link?”

He turned. Surprise for an instant, then a slow smile.

_Stay back!_

She knew that, though she wanted to run to him. She kept her feet firmly planted on the temple floor. He came closer but stayed out of arms reach.

“What have they done to you, little queen?”

She wanted to ask the same. He’d lost his boyishness. His hair was shorn close and his eyes were hard. She didn’t recognize the style of his armor, nor the architecture in the room.

“You found your people, then?”

His smile flattened. “I don’t need a family.”

_Leave._

She ignored the warning. “Where are you?”

He chuckled. “Why don’t you come and see, my dear?” He reached for her.

Her sword was light in her hands, reflecting the growing dawn as she assumed her ready stance.

He almost started. “They made _you_ the Champion?” His laugh rang from the temple walls where he used to worship. “You think _you_ could challenge _me_?”

She was surprised when her anger did not come. “Give him back.”

“Or what, little queen? You will slay me?”

“If I must.”

“Kill me and he dies with me.” He was confident, gloating. “See how weak your love makes you?”

“I will free him.”

She spoke to the empty doorway. Her sword drooped, too heavy for her weary arms.

She stared down at it, knowing he was right. She could never challenge him. She was a fool.

_He was weak once, too._

She tilted the blade and caught her reflection in it. She hardly recognized herself, bloodied, eyes dark with fatigue. Her hair tangled and matted.

Not what a Hero of legend would look like, and certainly not a queen.

And she wasn’t, not anymore. She had no throne. No army. No power.

 _It does not change who you are_.

 

She woke mid-morning in her bed.

Firn was there. Firn was always there, knitting, sewing, reading. Zelda rolled onto her back with a groan.

“I always wondered where he snuck off to,” the old woman said. “He’d come home dirty and bruised. Never complained, never spoke of it. As he grew older, he was better at hiding it.”

Was she allowed to talk about it? It felt wrong, not secret, but sacred.

“Tell me about him.”

Firn counted stitches. “I remember the time he knocked down a bee hive and came home covered in welts. Shot it out of a tree with a slingshot, given to him by one of the Lieutenants, no doubt. They doted on the boy. He was in a fair way to being spoiled rotten by them.

“His face was so swollen, I hardly recognized him. ‘What in Ordona’s name have you been doing?’ I demanded. And he, like always, replied ‘ _nahn,_ Firn! _Tes nahn larkin-!’_

 _“I was only just_ ” she translated. “All his excuses started with ‘I was only just…’ Just swimming in the fish pond. Catching hot-foot frogs. Climbing the flagpole. Riding an elk.”

Zelda’s abdomen ached as she giggled. “An elk?”

“Caught and wanted to train it as his pet.” Firn sighed. “The boy was insatiable, always doing, moving, running.”

Zelda thought of his restless pacing, trapped in the stone confines of the palace. She sat up, yawning. Her clothes were stiff with sweat and blood.

She scowled down at the too large trousers, cinched at the waist. The Champion’s tunic was equally too large. Who would ever think the Hero would be a woman?

Firn tried to brush her matted hair. Zelda stopped her, looking at her face in the mirror. A light blond, it fell to her past her waist.

“Just cut it,” she said.

Firn hesitated. “All of it, my lady?”

It would be easier, cooler. But she still admitted some vanity. “Long enough to put up.”

The knife sliced through the strands. Zelda shook her head and golden tresses fell everywhere.

She bathed and dressed in the too large clothing. “Is there a seamstress in the house?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Can we do something about these clothes?”

“I will see to it.”

At archery lesson, she still struggled to pull the weight of the bow.

_Lift your elbow, use your shoulder and torso, not your arm._

It wasn’t his voice, maybe a woman? It carried the same emptiness as the Ancient Hero’s. From long ago, a memory. She squinted at the target. Davin had moved it back and the center was barely a visible.

_The center never moves. The size and range do not matter. The center is always the same._

She loosed and was surprised to see it close to the mark.

“Well done!” Davin’s surprise was not as pleasurable. “Again.”

She lumbered in the armor they gave her. It fit well enough but was heavy. She stopped and gasped for air. Her hair still stuck to her neck and face.

“I need lighter gear,” she told them. “I can’t run in this.”

They were concerned about her defense.

“I will never win in a contest of strength. He is stones heavier. He beat a Goron up a volcano on foot. I can barely run the ridge path.”

She hated that narrow trail, more than any other exercise they put to her combined.

“I need more speed, lighter armor.”

Wetlin stroked his beard. “I will see what we can do.”

She forced herself to rise early and bathe and dress. She ate until she thought she would be sick. And she ran the ridge-line trail, though many times she _was_ sick, retching before resuming the steep ascent.

An afternoon sword lesson was interrupted by shouts of alarm.

“Ordon! Ordon, come quickly!”

The household ran to the base of the stairs. A group of soldiers pressed forward, carrying their wounded.

“ _Crytch_! In the Watch! They attempted to cross the bridge.”

Ordon strode forward. “How many? Were there any casualties?”

Zelda knelt by a soldier clutching a bandage to his mangled leg. He lay against the steps as the healers were fetched. Her hands hovered over the wound wanting to help, but not sure how.

“Leave them.”

She jerked her head up. He stood over her, his face dark with the sun blazing behind him.

“But, my lord,” said a man next to her.

“I have no use for damaged soldiers. March on.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Let me see him.”

Zelda shifted, back in the soft sweetness of the valley. A healer drew back the dressing. “Bring him to the temple.”

She helped him to his feet and he hobbled away on the arms of his comrades.

That evening, she met with Cantor.

“I would like to be trained as a healer.”

He considered. “You do not have the aptitude.”

She was tired of hearing of all the things she wasn’t. Not a queen, not a warrior, not a healer. Not the Hero. What was she good for, then?

“He can only destroy. I must heal the damage he causes.”

Cantor nodded thoughtfully. “It is not an easy thing. It takes years of study and practice.”

She knew that well enough. Her ineffectual attempts at the craft had not aided him.

“I will learn what I can in the time I have.”

Which was growing short. The days were long and golden. But she would need to leave by harvest.

 

“Again.”

The Sword Made to Pierce the Darkness thrummed as she spun. The Ancient Hero’s blade glanced off her block and she could attack. She missed, but quickly recovered and leaped out of range.

He straightened and nodded. “Well done.”

She flushed with pride. The sword was steady in her grip. “Again?”

“No.”

The room shifted. Or they moved. She swayed to keep her balance.

“Your Watch grows restless.”

Below them, things moved on the dark plain. Eyes caught the moonlight.

“Kill one.”

He was gone.

She ran for the nearest cover. A boulder, standing sentinel in the night. Her too large armor was loud and clumsy. She cut it off, not even taking time for the buckles.

She left the greaves which were strapped securely to her calves and the bracers to give her some way to protect her upper body. She would have paid her whole treasury for a Goron-made hauberk. His kit made sense, now she faced the same battle.

 _Still your breath_.

She did, holding it as long as she could and letting it out in a slow, silent exhale.

_Now, listen._

She couldn’t see anything.

_No, **listen**. They move with the shadows._

Shadows made no noise.

_Don’t they?_

She waited, trying to hear over her heartbeats. Odd, how one never noticed how loud they really were. Could the _crytch_ hear them, too?

_Yes._

Terror crawled up her spine. She knew then that this wasn’t the dream place. Her death here would be real. She did not have time to reflect on the unfairness of it. She crept from the boulder to another that gave her a better view of the plain.

_Unfair? This was your choice._

The boy pushed away from the mud, choking on the foul water and his sobs, trying to hide them. They only brought more punishment, more pain.

She stayed as still as she could, until her breaths were a bare shifting of the night.

A calm mind, he told her over and over. How she could be calm when she could _feel_ the darkness shifting, searching, hungry?

There. A motion, a hiss. She could see where her discarded armor huddled. Out of the night came a form. It nosed the pile. It lifted its head and turned to look toward her. Could it see through the blackness?

_Some can. Others use smell, some vibrations. You must learn how each coven hunts._

Zelda gripped her sword. The heavy steel gave her a small measure of confidence.

The _crytch_ moved jerkily, sometimes on all fours, sometimes lifting to its hind legs to test the air. Its head swiveled, bulbous and grotesque.

Anger joined her already tumultuous thoughts. He had cleared this plain, had spent years toiling, fighting, hunting and being hunted. He had burned the shadow-spawn from this place. Now they dared to tread on ground he sanctified with his own blood?

 _Destroy it_.

It heard her, saw her highlighted by the moon. Its maw was wide and full of hungry teeth. Twice her height, long grasping arms. She danced out of its reach. Claws scraped her face.

Almost without thought, her blade slashed. Its howl was horrible. Sour blood gushed to the dry earth. The monster fell, twitching, its jaws still gnashing as the head rolled. It faded back to the shadows.

Her hair prickled, howls rising from the distance.

_Now, run!_

She did, taking only a moment to sheath her blade at her back. It was uphill, her boots scrabbling as the dirt gave way beneath her. She could hear them, felt the restlessness of the shadows stirred by her passing. They were now hunting _her_.

_Make for the Gap!_

She stumbled as the ground smoothed out beneath her. She knew this road. They had travelled it after their fateful meeting on the plain. She wondered she did not realize then how it would alter their lives.

Would he have fallen to shadow if she had not heeded Hylia’s counsel? Would he still be safe in the valley of his home? But then, when Ganon came, she would not recognize the man she loved in the monster. Ordon would be lost. She would not be here now, learning how to save him.

_Stop thinking and run!_

They were gaining on her. She could see the hills that framed the narrow cleft. The Gap.

Something moved on the ridges. Her breath came as a sob. How had they penetrated so far? She would never break through.

Points of light on the ridge line. They streamed across the night sky. The arrows hissed as they passed her, hitting the ground behind her and flashing brilliant white light. Screeching, scrabbling, and the horde chasing her dispersed, blinded.

Her leaden legs thundered onto the wooden bridge. It swayed and she fought to keep her balance. At last she stepped onto Ordonian soil. Relief washed over her, safety, belonging.

She slowed and stopped, sinking to the ground. The soldiers of the Watch surrounded her, speaking in low but anxious voices.

“Your Majesty? How did- what were you doing in the Watch? At _night?_ ”

The ache in her chest didn’t allow her to answer. They helped her to her feet.

“Your face?” She felt the dried blood from the demon’s wounds. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she gasped. “No.”

“We will take you home. Senin, accompany the queen. They rest of you, join the others. Protect the Gap.”

Ordon was furious. “What were you thinking?” he demanded. Zelda sat directly on the ground, looking up at him as he stormed at her.

 Suddenly she smiled, a silly grin made of pride and realization. As he scolded her for her folly, she saw a young Link, slender and long-limbed, blood still dripping from his forehead, not knowing that the king’s anger was stoked by this gash over his left eye, narrowly missing the delicate tissues, the same that had been blinded in his forgotten infancy. His triumph swelled his chest, negating any punishment meted out by his father.

Ordon checked his lecture. He saw it, too, remembering the night the Champion had slain his first _crytch_. Tears glinted in his eyes. She pushed herself up and embraced him tightly.

“I will save him,” she promised again.

The man could not speak, just held her close for a moment and then made room for the healer to tend to her face.

 

“You are too weak for a shield,” Sorrint said matter-of-factly. She liked his blunt observations. They were what she was thinking, anyway. “You will use a knife in your off-hand instead.”

Link could wield a sword in either hand. A slim dagger seemed absurdly ineffectual. Sorrint saw what her doubts.

“Powerful warriors tend to underestimate their lighter, faster opponents. He may outmatch you in size and weight. However…”

The soldier attacked, catching her off guard. She defended as well as she could. The wooden practice knife jabbed in under his arm.

He smiled. “Few men can fight long with a knife in their lung.”

The hot afternoon went quickly. Too quickly. The nights grew longer and cool. She still had so much to learn.

When Sorrint called an end to their grappling, she stepped forward.

“May I?”

He nodded. “Some of your blows were hard enough to bruise.”

She laughed delightedly. Her hands warmed. His shoulder, his knee. She _had_ managed to land a few of solid blows.

He stretched as she finished. “Very good.”

She brushed her sweaty hair from her face. Maybe she _should_ cut it all off.

“Your Majesty?” Davin called her across the arena. He was smiling, as well. Seeing their happiness allowed her hope to bloom once more. “Your Majesty, please come with me.”

Firn was in the group, as were many of the soldiers who trained her and servants of the house. They presented her with cloth wrapped packages, oddly shaped.

She unwrapped them and gasped. “It is beautiful!”

The armor was buffed to a soft gleam so as not to catch the sun. Light but strong, the set fit perfectly, easy to buckle into place.

She twisted, feeling how the chest guard moved.  The bracers, upper and lower, greaves, cuisse, all lightened, excess metal removed to make movement easy. The slat plate sewn into the leather over her abdomen did not bind.

She made a few experimental lunges. Her newly fitted clothing did not bunch under the straps. She could roll easily. She brushed her hair back impatiently.

“If I may?” One of the older soldiers led her to a chair. He smoothed her hair with a wooden comb. “My father taught me the traditional braids, though most warriors wear their hair short these days.”

It took a little time and some eye-watering, but soon she had a set of six tight braids fastened at the end with strong cords, three on each side, circling her head like a crown.

“I will teach you before you go,” he promised. “The Demon Watch wear no helms. If you cannot tie it back, you should sheer it. Nothing must obstruct your vision.”

She presented herself to the Ancient Hero that night. He examined her and his empty voice was amused.

“You look quite the warrior, young queen.”

She flushed with pleasure. “I feel like a warrior.” How could she not, with her Sword strapped to her back, her knives at her waist. Her quiver slung under her scabbard, the bow newly strung. Her armor gleamed in the moonlight and she felt strong. Powerful.

“You are still nothing to him.”

“But I am no longer weak.”

“No, you are not weak. Show me how strong you have become.”

 

The cool air of the night was delicious on her face. She stood on the balcony outside her room. It was past midnight, but she did not feel tired. Physically, yes, but her thoughts soared to the fading stars. She read them and noted how they had shifted. The summer was ending. The Watch seethed. Her Hero waited.

But she could understand his reluctance to leave this place. It was truly beautiful. Only in summer, they cautioned her.  The snow could be brutal in the worst winters. The spring had been unseasonably dry, there was usually mud until midsummer even on the best maintained roads. She hoped to see these miserable times with him.

The wood beneath her feet trembled. A messenger at this time of night? But it wasn’t the thrum of hoofbeats. It was drumming.

She turned, watching the people move about her. Soldiers lounging, servants carrying platters of food and drink, dancing girls. The air was thick with smoke from the fires and torches.

He sat to the side, looking out over his army as they celebrated. Though the faces were flushed with laughter and wine, there was fear, wariness. He stood and the revelers fell back before him, avoiding him as he strode through the throng.

He didn’t see her. His crimson cloak billowed behind him.

“Link.”

He turned. There was even less of him now. The fires danced in his eyes as he searched for her. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. Her hand stayed tight to the age-smoothed railing, anchored to Ordon.

His lip curled. “An unexpected pleasure, Your Majesty.”

The fear was there, but it could not suffocate her any longer. She had slain many _crytch_ , proven herself even to the Ancient Hero. He could not diminish her accomplishments. “Your army grows strong, Link.”

“While you play at soldier.” He took in her armor, the hilt at her shoulder. “You still think you can win this battle, little queen?”

“I must.”

He advanced on her. She lifted her chin and met his hard eyes. He reached for her, taking one of her braids between his fingers. The end of it curled around his fingertip.

“It suits you,” he said. “Quite the picture you make, the brave warrior queen. Would he recognize you, I wonder? Would he still find you desirable?” The red light of the flames made his eyes dark as they drifted down to her lips.  

Even the drums went silent. The night air was still, the smoke frozen. He stirred and spoke almost if from a dream.

“Zelda…I…”

He blinked and jerked back, a snarl breaking his lips.

“You think you can use this against me?” he demanded, Shadow Blade in his hand. “You are _nothing_!”

She smiled triumph. She had seen it, an instant in his eyes, seen Link within. “You were right. It does make you weak.”

His bellow faded to nothing as she stepped back into the night.             

 

Screams broke out as he raged. Women and soldiers scrambled to avoid his blade. Soon the room was clear, nothing but smoking embers and destruction. He stood in the wreckage, chest heaving.

He barked for his men. They came timidly and he nearly slew them on sight, cringing scum. But he needed them, needed these worthless peons.

“Break camp. We march for Hyrule.”

 

Zelda went to Ordon at first light.

“I need to leave.”

He set aside the book he held. “What has happened?”

“Link has gathered an army. He readies for war. I must return to Hyrule.”

Ordon rubbed his face. “You must be most cautious. Even before Ganon, he was a master tactician. I…I trained him well.”

Zelda laughed. “I know it. He has had me at a disadvantage for years. Did you know he used to sneak into the palace?” Ordon nodded reluctantly. She sniffed and said, “We caught him once, he tells me.”

“And he escaped, he always was quick to note.”

“I’ll have the warrant nullified as part of the peace treaty.”

His humor died. “How will you take back your crown?”

She had no idea. “Hylia will guide me.” Her voice was faint in this land, but Zelda could feel the strength she gave. “I will need men.”

“I can spare you much fewer than I would like to.”

“I understand. The Watch must be manned. I appreciate your defense of my people and I will make reparations when I retake my throne.”

The six remaining convicts who had served Link volunteered to come. She had met them soon after her arrival to thank them for their risk in saving her.

“It is what he would have done,” Karn had told her. She looked at them now, readied to travel into Hyrule with twenty-four others. They would not be inconspicuous as they moved across the countryside.

“Where do we march?” Sorrint asked. Zelda looked over the map, trying to see it as he would.

On the far side of Castle Town lay its sister city, Kakariko. If she had the support of her own soldiers, she would retreat there, use the mountains to her advantage.

A memory of that night came back. “Have any of you crossed the Bottomless Swamp?”

Karn eyed her. “That’s dangerous. And leads to nowhere.” On the map, he was right. After the Swamp came a cluster of fishing villages and the open ocean.

“The Zora,” she explained. “We cannot reach them with any speed if we follow the trade roads. We will be spotted long before. I do not know who or how many of my Magistrates will side with me. I do not know the breadth of the conspiracy that supplanted me. I am sure they have pronounced me dead, either by execution or assassination.”

Had she waited too long? Was her chance gone to reclaim her throne? But she had needed this time to prepare herself.

“We will invoke the Assembly, demand assistance to return me to my rightful throne.”

“Why would they care?” Karn asked. “I’ve dealt with these Zora. They don’t have much time for Hylians or any other race.”

“It is a risk we must take. They must honor the old ways. Hyrule has borne the brunt of the endless battle for millennia. They owe us allegiance in this war.”

“And if they decide to side with Ganon?”

“Then all is lost anyway.”

Sorrint agreed with her. “This is bigger than Ordon and Hyrule. If they cannot see that, they will learn it to their despair. Ganon will consume everything.”

 

She stood looking out over the gathered populace. It was strange to be a queen once more. These people who sheltered her deserved her protection as if they were her own.

She pitched her voice to carry over the crowd. To the pyre that still lay empty at Ordona’s feet.

“Long have our peoples been at war. I cannot repay you the kindness you have shown me in my darkest hour. When I had given up hope, you carried me on until I found my way.

“I will do everything I can to return your prince to you. I ask you now to keep fighting. Man the Watch, as you have done for generations. Soon, too soon, it will come time to retreat. I will have a place of refuge ready for you in Hyrule.”

She knew that absolutely. He would come over the mountains to the northwest, move east and south, rolling over his adopted homeland on his way to conquer Hyrule.

“We have stood against Ganon since the creation of our land. We will stand firm now. I will destroy the threat to our peoples or I will die trying.”

They cheered, a massed voice of assent and support.

“Be safe. May the Goddess protect you.”

 

They climbed the same ridge trail as the first time. They passed the clearing with its stone fire circle. She looked down the path to where his sword lay. She did not stop. She needed each of her weapons for the coming task.


	7. The Oath of the Sheik’ah

**Chapter Seven: The Oath of the Sheik’ah**

It had been a long summer.

Not that he had seen any of it. The sun did not penetrate this far down into the prison.

Sheik lay on the small pile of straw they dumped here once a week. He had kept track of the time by counting how many times it had been replaced.

Ten yesterday. Or eleven? He rotated his wrists, working the stiffness out of his hands and arms. Then his shoulders, his torso. His legs were cramped from the constant chill.

Maybe pointless, but he would keep his flexibility for if he was freed. Link had the advantage in that, twenty years younger.

It was never long before his thoughts fell to wondering about the boy and his queen. Did they escape the palace? He felt sure someone would come to gloat if she was dead. But there had been nothing, just hay and the meager prison portions, the change of the guard and the piss bucket.

Speaking of which.

Steps came down the corridor. The new guard hailed the old, who groaned and gave his report.

“Nothing.”

“Even…?”

“No.”

Should he cackle ominously from the darkness? That wasn’t really his style.

Their voices dropped to whispers.

“Have you heard? About the Ordonians?”

“Yes, from Vun. Wild, huh?”

“Do they know where the queen is, you think?”

“As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. I don’t ask for trouble.”

The newcomer scraped back a stool. “My cousin is the executioner. That wasn’t the queen under the hood.”

The second yawned as he replied. “I don’t care as long as I get paid. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

Sheik sat cross-legged in the darkness. If they had resorted to such theater, she must have escaped.

If she was with Link, she was safe. It was only a matter of time before the boy led an army victorious to reclaim her throne. He’d make a good consort for her. Restive, but one couldn’t expect the Hero to be anything else.

He waited until the guard was dozing to do his exercises. The walls were slick with dampmoss, but the cracks between the stones have him purchase. His gymnastics were soundless, bare feet on smooth stone slabs.

When his body was tired, he settled in to wait for dawn. Maybe they would bring more gossip.

 

Another week and he started making plans to escape. There was no variation in the routine. The castle appeared to continue to run smoothly despite its monarch being supposedly executed.

It was time to destabilize things a bit.

When his daily meal came, he coughed horribly.

The guard slid the bowl in at him. “Shut it!”

The next day, Sheik crawled weakly to the door. He grasped at the guard’s legs and was soundly kicked.

“Get off me!”

The third, he lay limp by the door.

“Oh, just what I need,” the guard grumbled. He prodded Sheik’s body with his boot. “Hey, get up.” He sighed and slammed the door.

Carefully arranging himself in the same manner the next day, the guard opened the door to see him again.

“Hey, Dastin!”

“What?” called a distant voice.

“I think this one’s dead! He’s been laying here two days now.”

“Pitch’m, then.”

The man not named Dastin made a disgusted noise. “I did the last one!” he protested.

“Do it and stop whining!”

Sheik was hefted by his armpits. His heels dragged. He was dropped unceremoniously on the ground and a barrow fetched. He lay still, barely breathing, which was not hard to do given the stench of the place.

Not-Dastin bent to lift him to the transport. He gave one shivering gasp and fell, knocked unconscious.

Jumping up, Sheik stripped the man quickly and traded clothes. He was a bit taller but could slouch. He stuffed the unfortunate guard into the wheelbarrow. His limbs hung convincingly limp. He’d considered killing him outright, but the man had done him no personal wrong. Just doing his job.

Dastin didn’t glance up from his book.

“Don’t stop for a smoke, yeah?”

Sheik managed a fair imitation of Not-Dastin’s voice. “Why not? Need one after this.”

“You’re an old woman, Farl.”

Sheik lumbered by, carrying Not-Dastin-but-Farl out into the main prison complex. The long ramp up broke sweat on his forehead. No matter how diligent, calisthenics in a cell were no match for arms practice.

It was afternoon, overcast thankfully. He squinted against the light. Most guards ignored him and his burden. A few challenged him.

“Dastin told me to,” Sheik grumbled.

They waved him on.

The prison infirmary was busy. It always was, with laborers hobbling dramatically and those serving lighter sentences demanding to be seen for their liverish complaints.

The harassed medic jerked a thumb toward the back. Sheik left the man in a storage room. Someone would have a nasty surprise when the guard finally woke.

He kept his uniform and made for the gate.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the guards there demanded. “Shift’s not over for four hours!”

Sheik held his stomach. “Sick,” he explained shortly. “Told Dastin and the warden. Need to-” He retched and they jumped back.

“Alright, alright.”

Sheik walked into the evening unmolested. And they had been surprised when Link had escaped after only three weeks. Of course, they hadn’t known it was the Champion of Ordon they held.

How they could miss it, he wasn’t sure. The boy’s whole being radiated power. If nothing else, the dangerous glint in his eye should have warned them it was no ordinary prisoner. If Sheik had known he had been captured, he would have been locked in the deepest part of the prison, completely isolated. It would have been the only way to keep him contained.

But then, he would not have slain the Hinox of Wuilto Forrest, not drawn the attention of the queen. Not planted the idea to ask Ordon for help.

And she would not have met him and fallen in love with him.

He hadn’t been thrilled with it, originally. He foresaw many arguments and broken crockery. And when Link grew resentful of the constraints placed on him, who knows what he would do? Hopefully, not turn to other women to allay the boredom. He liked the boy; killing him would be disappointing.

The air was sweet and clean. He found a public bathhouse and snuck in through the vents up by the roof. He soaked until he was refreshed and made a quick pass through the dressing rooms and came away with a pocketful of coins and a handy stiletto. He slipped it into the pocket of his freshly laundered guard uniform and strolled into the night.

 

It was a nondescript tavern, identical to dozens of others.  Pacquin’s was not quite slummy, serving day laborers and minor tradesmen. Honest enough, it seemed, though Sheik was sure the beer was watered. Link’s trail led here and nowhere else.

It had taken a few days to trace Link’s progress after he arrived that spring. The boy slipped like a ghost through the countryside. Goddess Touched; Sheik had recognized it the first time they met, years ago.

The Champion had been poking around Castle Town. His Hylian was good enough, but that drawl pegged him an outsider right off. Sheik’s men had noticed his odd behavior and raised the alert.

He had followed the boy as he roamed the city. His path seemed aimless, until Sheik noticed a pattern. He always circled back to a gate and always kept a landmark to his right or left.

Mapping the city in his mind.

Now officially concerned, he kept track of which taverns he frequented. Many he hit only once, cleaning out the locals at dice or cards and slipping away before the hapless patrons realized something more than luck was in play.

Sheik had edged closer, the light midmorning traffic causing no issue in trailing him. The boy turned up a side street. Sheik had come around the corner to find the alley empty.

No crates to hide behind. No doorways to slip into. Just empty.

He went a few paces in, watching for the flutter of the boy’s cloak, listening for a footfall. Nothing. The trail went to the middle of the street, then vanished.

He’d lost him until one of his men spotted him going out a gate on the opposite side of the city.

Magic was the only explanation. A discomforting one, but he hadn’t known then the boy’s true identity. That was a few years later, when the Hinox moved into the forest and started eating people.

“Haven’t seen you around, friend,” the inn-master’s wife said as she handed him a mug of their watery ale. The dishonesty let them cheat the pint tax newly imposed at the beginning of summer.

“Just moved from the Fello Bridge warren.”

She sniffed rudely. “You’ll be a Regulars man, then?”

Sheik smiled as disarmingly as he could. “Nah, house divided,” he admitted. “Why I’m here instead of home with the missus.” The East Enders had thrashed the Fello Regulars that afternoon and the city was potent for brawls.

Madame Pacquin grinned. “Well, you’re always welcome here on matchday, should things grow heated over supper.”

“Many thanks.”

Why this tavern? Had he enjoyed the food? Not likely, it wasn’t anything special. Clearly not for the middle-aged mistress of the house. He wasn’t a heavy drinker. He’d had only three glasses of wine at that dinner and spent the next day squinting. Sheik had kept careful track of his habits; a drunken Link would be an unparalleled disaster. The Chosen Hero with no inhibitions? Not that he appeared to have them anyway, galivanting around other people’s countries, doing whatever he wished.

The recent change in power was a topic, of course. The official word was the queen was guilty of treason and had been executed. There were the usual conspiracy theories circulating. But the lumbering force that was the city absorbed the disquiet and moved forward. Men and animals needed to eat. Crops needed tending or there would be hunger this winter. The queen had enforced a contented peace few were willing to abandon.

He hung around the neighborhood, sleeping in attics and stopping by the tavern every few nights.  When his face stopped attracting looks, he started mixing with the regulars.

“Is there a Master Pacquin?” he asked. “Or does the mistress just want to put off her admirers?” For she was a pretty woman. A little stout, but carrying her middle-age well.

Chuckles hid behind tankards. “Aye, there’s a Master Pacquin.”

Sheik made an appearance of taking that at face value. “Too bad. My missus would like to see the back of me.”

Her storeroom provided little information at first glance. He squatted down and pressed his hand to the floor. His command was a bare whisper.

“ _Dhze’ba.”_

Pale light raced from his fingers, searching. A square outlined briefly, then faded. It was a trapdoor about a yard square. Large enough to move small barrels through.

He found the latch, a small bit of floor planking joined so smoothly as to be nearly invisible. The panel lifted silently. Impressed, and wondering why then they watered the ale, he went down the sturdy ladder.

The bottom was a small room mortared securely against the city’s constant damp. There were crates, but they held travel provisions, not illicit goods. A few weapons wrapped in oilcloth. A stack of plain clothing in all sizes, male and female.

Another word of opening and a concealed door gleamed. This one swung on invisible hinges. This was much more than some part-time smuggling to cheat the magistrates. What had Link been doing?

For he had been down here. His touch radiated all around. The trail was too old to track even magically, but Sheik knew the boy’s feel well. A tingle and snap of air, like lightening too close.

Sheik followed the tunnel. He could see in the blackness, another trick of his people’s magic. The way angled slightly down and drifted to the south. The damp became more pronounced until his ankles sloshed through standing water.

The ladder was strong, made of leather wrapped metal. The trap here was harder to work. A heavy metal slab fastened with a wheel-lock. Recently greased but still resistant.

A two-man job, he figured. One inside to unlock and one out to help lift it free. He leveraged it with his shoulder, cursing his incarceration.

He came out onto a stonework ledge. The Irritara flowed by, smooth and fast. And above him the towering Goddess Bridge.

What had Link been smuggling into Castle Town? Who was Pacquin? And where _was_ that blasted boy?

 

Steel met him back in the inn.

He came through the storeroom door like a shadow and drew up as a low voice commanded: “Hold!”

He did, hands up and open.

“You?” the man grunted. “Figures.”

Sheik looked at the three of them. “I mean you no harm. I’m looking for someone.”

“I’m sure the warden will be very interested.”

“A man called Gotkasi.”

Their stillness warned him to be very careful.

“What about him?”

“Have you seen him recently?”

“No.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“No.”

Sheik lowered his hands. “I need to find him.”

“Why?”

“He has the queen.”

That baffled them. “Impossible.”

“He would never-” The man broke off.

Sheik relaxed a little. “He helped her escape. I was there. I am Sheik.”

A long moment of silence and one of them lit a match. A lamp glowed, revealing three of Pacquin’s regulars.

“Explain.”

“Gotkasi learned of the plot to assassinate the queen. He took her that night. I was wounded.” The slice to his abdomen was still tender; a curse of growing old. “I’ve been in the prison until a fortnight past. I need to find him.”

Madame Pacquin came down the stairs with a business-like knife in one hand and her skirts bunched in the other. She surveyed the scene.

“What is going on?”

Sheik explained as succinctly as he could. Her dark eyes narrowed as she listened. Then she shook her head. “Always knew he’d find a scrape he couldn’t charm his way out of.”

In Sheik’s experience, the Champion was more likely to bite than flirt, but then he wasn’t a pretty woman. “What are you smuggling into the city?”

Madame Pacquin did not answer him. “Has anyone else been alerted?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then go home. I’ll handle this.”

The men were still mistrusting, but obedient. Sheik watched them go into the night, then turned to the mistress of the house. She was regarding him with narrow eyes. She picked up the lamp.

“Come with me.”

At the top of the house was a peaked attic. Link’s trail was present, mixed with many others. Madame Pacquin went to the wall connecting this house to the next in the row. A clever latch, hidden in a support beam and the door swung open.

The next attic also held his trail, but much fainter, eroded by time and the passage of people. In an attic?

“He hadn’t been to the city in almost a year,” Madame Pacquin said as they went down another set of stairs. “Longer than usual, but not concerning. And then he shows up out of the blue and pulls that stunt at the palace!”

She knocked a pattern on the door at the foot of the stairwell.

“And then hearing he was going to marry the queen, Hylia preserve her!”

Sheik cast her a quick look. “There was nothing decided.”

She tossed her head. “My sister’s girl works in service to Lord Bast. All the palace staff knew what was in the air.”

Unfortunately, that was true. The Magistrates had been desperate to throw their daughters at him. They also had sons who needed to be disposed of to advantage. An outsider prince had been most unwelcome.

The door cracked. “Vimnala? What has-?”

“All is well.” Madame Pacquin assured her. It was a standard rowhouse, with a front room and the scullery behind. A second set of stairs led to the sleeping quarters.

These were lined with bunks. The sleepy occupants rose as she entered. Women clutched children close, fear in their hollow eyes

“Are we discovered?”

“You are safe.” Madame Pacquin said soothingly. “This man is a friend.”

There were twenty of them, all crammed into the small rooms. Some singly, some in pairs. Women, children, men.

“I have always supported my king,” Madame Pacquin said. “But his law is weak in the east. The magistrates are corrupt and deal with slavers from Tatola.”

Sheik knew this and wished he could express Zelda’s frustration and shame with it. When all those involved protected each other, denying any accusations? And how could the slaves come forward, with their families threatened with death?

“I met my husband in Rus. He had already been doing what he could to sabotage the slave ships roving the coast. I fled to the city when our town was attacked. By Hylian soldiers, at Rustam’s command, though I am sure there is an ‘official’ reason for the raid. My husband stayed at sea, of course.

“He continued to free as many as he could. I would travel to Rus and bring them back with me, but I could only take two or three at a time without raising suspicion. Then, six, seven years ago? Gotkasi came to the city. How he discovered what we were doing, I don’t know. I feared we had been compromised when he told me he knew everything. Swore to do anything to aid us.”

Sheik was not surprised by this. “He was born a slave.”

Madame Pacquin gripped his arm. “ _Link_?”

Sheik nodded. “He escaped as child, possibly dumped when he was seriously injured.”

“He never – he never told me!”

“He didn’t speak of it. I think Ordona may have made him forget much of it.”

“No wonder, then. He is such a kind boy, but when he was out there…” she shivered. “I will admit, Master Pacquin was concerned about him going too far, not knowing when to stop.”

“I knew he had been causing problems for the magistrates for a while,” Sheik confessed.

Problems like garroting corrupt officers as they slept, others taken from their homes, their bodies found days later in the woods, gruesomely mangled. Supposedly by wild animals. Sheik had good reason to be leery of a vengeful, unchecked Link. “I never told the queen. She would have had to intercede, officially demand his arrest. They, of course, could not complain. There would have been an investigation.”

Madame Pacquin’s eyes shone with fierce pride. “He’s helped us move hundreds over the years. Gave us the money to set up the tunnel, a network to hide them as they moved to the city.”

Money from Hyrule’s own treasury, most likely. Sheik hoped he would marry the queen soon and put an end to his guerrilla antics. He almost felt sorry for the slavers; having the Hero of Legend lead an army to destroy you would be most unpleasant.

Sheik followed the inn-mistress back to her chambers. “I cannot aid you directly,” he told her. She set her lamp on a table and sat.

“I know. So why did you come to us?”

“I am looking for the queen. Link has her. He came here often enough to leave a trail.”

“Trail?”

Sheik spoke that which he swore to never tell anyone. “My people’s magic led me here.”

Madame Pacquin settled back in her chair, taking a second look at him. “You _are_ Sheik, not just in name.”

He nodded. “We serve the king and queen of Hyrule, as we have for centuries.”

“A legend, they say. An honorary title, and no more in this day and age.”

“We prefer that assumption.”

She smiled. “How can I aid you, then?”

“Where would Link go? Did he have other places of refuge? His trail…his Goddess protects him well.”

She shrugged. “We only saw him infrequently these days. He never spoke of his other business.”

“Did you know he is the Champion of Ordona?”

“I guessed there was something more. Things he said, strange people he knew. And his power, it wasn’t natural. Knew he had to be Goddess Touched. Then he has to audacity to march into the city and claim to be a prince!”

Sheik laughed with her, remembering well the astonishment of the palace guard who came to fetch him that day. “He is, of Ordon, at least.”

She had the same opinion of the smaller nation as most of Hyrule. “No wonder he had such strange mannerisms. And his accent! Enough to choke a Goron. There are others of you in the city?”

“A few. I have not contacted them.”

“Why?”

“I need to know the extent of the conspiracy before I go to my brothers.” They may be compromised. Or complicit. He must know before he risked the queen in a such a way.

“I swear, I knew nothing of this until the word came she had been arrested.”

“Did you believe them?”

Madame Pacquin hesitated. “No, but many did. Not all have been happy with her rule. She has been more aggressive than her father in many ways.”

He knew that well enough. Many, many afternoons had been spent in hot debate with her tutors, demanding the reason for the continued slave trade, for one. Arguing for changes to the structure of the Magistrates Council, expanding the power of the royal family, reaching out to other nations, taking back territories lost in past generations.

She should have been born a man. Her rule would have come easier. And the whole business with Link would have been much less complicated.

“We have not seen him, since that day. He stayed for a single night.”

Sheik sighed. “Then I must find a new trail.” That meant getting into the palace.

Madame Pacquin offered him a bed. “I am assuming there is no missus waiting for you?”

Sheik grinned. “No, ma’am. Forgive my deceptions.”

“If you can find our Link, all is forgiven.”

 

He had less freedom than when he was the queen’s personal guard. But he also attracted less attention. People spoke freely in front of him, disguised in a servant’s uniform.

The king was still alive. Sheik slipped through the hidden tunnel, following Zelda and Link’s clear trail. No one else had used it since.

The king was sitting by the window, his face slack with sleep. His attendant also snoozed on a divan. A whispered command and both their sleeps became deep and dreamless.

She had been here. Why? Her father would not have remembered her. She may be nostalgic at times but had to have known the risk of this detour.

Another word and a ghost of her moved through the room. Link stood by the door, his form restless and impatient. His intensity left strong memories.

She went to a jewel case and retrieved something. It shone white in her hands. Sheik whirled as Link’s memory lurched forward, sharp, angry, desperate. It roiled, flaring with darkness. Instinctively he stepped between them, Link’s presence here so strong Sheik felt he could touch him.

What had she found?

“Lost.”

Sheik jerked face the king. He stared at Link’s shade, eyes unfocused and weak.

“He is lost.”

Sheik went to the man and knelt by his chair. “Your Majesty? Who is lost?”

The king’s attention faded. His gaze moved aimlessly over the room. “He is lost.”

“The Champion?”

Gibberish for a moment. Then, “When will he come?”

“Who, Your Majesty?”

“We waited. But he did not come.  All is lost.”

He wanted to ask more but he had been here too long already. Sheik touched the king’s forehead. “I will find him. Sleep, Your Majesty.”

Leaving the memories behind, Link still grasping at the light Zelda carried, Sheik continued after their path.

The stables were busy with the usual daily work. Their trail blurred and faded. Too many people moving across it. Should he try to follow it? He may be able to pick it up outside the city.

But then what? Zelda was without her soldiers. There had been no rumors of her, no talk of a gathering force of loyalists. He couldn’t do much for her alone.

Sheik looked back to the palace. The spired reached for the clouds, the windows gleaming as the sun dipped to the horizon. Her tower sat empty still, no doubt ransacked for clues as to her whereabouts, her trinkets stolen for some lord’s fly-by-night.

His family’s oath rose up furious.

Time to teach them the error of crossing the Sheik'ah.


	8. Divinations

**Chapter Eight: Divinations**

The Bottomless Swamp had a bottom. It was just a sinking, sticky mass of putrid mud. Stepping unwarily off the path, Zelda sank to her knee. Sorrint tugged her up by her armpit.

“Thanks,” she grumbled. Fatigue was making her clumsy and she berated herself for it.

They had marched from before dawn to well into the night every day the past week. The trail was winding, following the solid sections of the swamp. Karn and Vernin, convicted of smuggling goods across this very stretch of land, consulted a map.

She wondered if it they should trust it. Bought off a local, it felt like they were traveling in circles. She looked southeast, wanting to sprout wings and fly there as fast as possible. Had he felt this same drive? The delay was driving her mad.

“This way,” Vernin decided, folding the map and tucking it away. “Should be able to cross the Cruoth this late in the year.”

Zelda wearily followed along. At least the horses carried her kit. But even the lightened armor was heavy and her boots long since saturated.

The Cruoth was a flood plain, fed by a seasonal river. They worked their way across, tugging the hesitant horses along. Ordonian cattle were bred for mountains; they liked sloshing through the mud as little as she did.

Her mount fell behind, fretting. She soothed it, murmuring the clumsy Ordonian she knew.

_Someone is following!_

Zelda froze for a moment, then kept up her strokes. The horse shook its head, blowing. Zelda worked the animal around until she could peer over the saddle.

Nothing.

_Someone is there._

She stayed still, letting her eyes unfocus, take in the wide, shimmering marshlands behind.

_There!_

A shadow, moving some miles behind.

 _Tracking you_.

She tugged her mount along. The others waited by the shore. She stepped on to the firmer ground.

“Someone is following us.”

Sorrint glanced at her, then the horizon. “How far behind?”

“A few miles.”

“We’ll lose them. Mount up.”

“No,” she countered. “Make camp. Let them get close.”

He wanted to argue. “Yes, ma’am.”

Karn found them a copse of water-dead trees. No fire, but he had a small metal box that he coaxed a tiny blaze into. Zelda warmed her hands by its soft glow, listening for what was following.

The river hissed, horses grunted. The breathing of the men, the wind, the faintest crackle from the coals.

The shadows here were clear and fresh. They did not scrape against the ground as they did in the Watch. Nor did they cling to the corner of her vision.

_There._

A darker shape moved to the edge of the flood plain. It looked out over the shimmering flat and started to pick across.

“It’s crossing the river,” she told Sorrint quietly. He peered the way she indicated.

“I don’t see it.”

Truly? It stood out against the night as clearly as a sunny day.

“Not a _crytch_ ,” she said. It moved wrong. And the sound of the shadows didn’t change as it neared. “I’m going to catch it.”

Another bitten off protest. “Be careful.”

She was so muddy already, it was nothing to lie against the dirt and watch as the form moved slowly across the river bed. She glanced back to their camp. The wind carried the slightest scent of smoke, but no light through the dense, dead thicket.

Had his heart raced like hers, fear, anticipation, excitement? She almost hoped it was something to fight. She was tired of mud and monotony, the hiding.

The figure reached the more solid ground of the bank. It stood for a moment, looking at the ground. Tracking them? No _crytch_ , this, looking for a meal, but some earthly entity following them for a reason.

It was small, she thought. And oddly shaped, hooded. She crept closer. It found a tangle of deadwood, likely pushed downstream during the spring floods.

No fire for them, either; the wood too wet and the plain too exposed. She waited, watching as it slowly relaxed and fell into a fitful sleep.

The voice she heard was puzzled.

 _An enemy?_ it wondered.

She didn’t think so. Buy why was it following them? She stood, drawing her sword, but not feeling the same edge to the night air, the tension when a _crytch_ was near. This was almost…familiar.

Her steps made no sound, the comforting presence of Ordona cloaking her. Link’s ability to penetrate her castle defenses seemed obvious, now. How could her poor mortal soldiers compete with an incarnation of the Hero of Legend? But then, he wasn’t, She said. What did that make him?

The figure shivered and made a small snuffling noise. Zelda rushed forward, alarm, anger, fear all breaking through her calm focus.

“Enon!”

The boy started and jumped up, hands out and ready to fight. They stared at each other. Then the boy dropped his eyes.

“I _won’t_ go home,” he said, somewhere between defiant and sullen. “We’re too far from Ordon. You can’t spare the men.”

She had nothing to say. He was right, of course.

He peeked up at her. He took a deep breath and straightened. “I want to help save him.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I know.”

“You aren’t…” Skilled enough, strong enough, ready for this task.

He saw her thoughts. “Neither are you.”

She would have paddled his rear-end if it hadn’t been perfectly true. Instead she sheathed her blade. “Come on.”

Enon stood quiet under the soldiers’ scolding. Schemes to return him to Ordon were proposed at once, with all debate returning to the truth the boy had spoken. They needed to move forward. And Ordon would not be safe for much longer.

In the end, he ate a large helping of their travel provisions and curled up between two of the soldiers. Sorrint watched him fall asleep and sighed.

“Thank the Goddess he made it this far unharmed,” he said. Zelda agreed, but how had he managed it? They were not trying to be stealthy, but they had been moving fast.

Enon carried a mix of defiance and pride as they continued their march at dawn.

“My horse went lame in that forest before the marshlands,” he explained. He chewed mouthfuls between phrases. “I was only a day, maybe two behind you. I knew you were heading southeast, so I cut across the Lillu to make up time.”

Sorrint was not ready to be amused by his cleverness. He spoke sternly. “How do you think your mother felt, finding you gone?”

Enon hunched his shoulders but met the soldier’s eyes steadily. “I wrote her a letter.”

“A _letter_?”

“And I left my sword. Ordona will watch over me.”

Zelda truly admired Sorrint’s self-control. He went a little red in the face and took a deep breath. But in the end, he just let it out in a gusty sigh and walked away.

Enon followed him with anxious eyes. He saw her watching and scowled. He seemed to have left his respect of her back in Ordon with his offering to the Goddess.

“Thirsty?” She held out a water skin. He shook his head and weaved through the group to walk by one of the soldiers.

She hoped they would reach the Zora soon.

 

The air was muggy, the heat not lessoned by the low clouds. The sun was a shimmering disk behind them, the tent canvas giving no relief from its influence.

“My Lord?” It was one of the commoners, a so-called officer.

“What?”

“The man you requested is here.”

The mystic came in, eyes darting around the tent. He found the figure sitting by the table and bowed low.

“My Lord,” he said in a breathless voice. “An honor to serve.”

“Pray you serve me better than the last of your kind.”

The unfortunate man swallowed noisily. “I will do my best, my lord.”

He was beckoned to the empty chair. Pale faced and pale eyed, he blinked myopically at the man staring him down.

“My lord, is…is it true?” he asked in a whisper. “Has the prophecy come to fruition?”

“What do you know of prophecy?”

The mystic flourished a small cloth bag. “I have a gift in reading the bones, my lord.” He hurried on as the hard mouth sneered. “And divination, my lord. I can show you what you seek.”

He waited, sweating from more than heat.

“Show me.”

The metal dish was heavy and dented. The Mystic arranged it on the table and polished its dull surface vigorously.

“To make a true Viewing, I need something of the target’s, a focus.”

A scrap of fabric dropped to the table. “Use this.”

The old man fingered it gingerly, avoiding the blood stains as best he could. He paused, some of his fear lost in professional focus.

He risked a swift look up to the dark eyes. “This has been touched by powerful magic.”

A sharp, humorless laugh. “Some say the most powerful. Now, find her.”

Never before had he focused his gift so intently. The clear water poured into the dish stilled at his command, forming a smooth mirrored surface.

“Impressive,” came the amused murmur. “You actually have some real magic.”

“What…” He had to swallow to moisten his throat. “What is this woman’s name?”

“Zelda.”

The mystic repeated the strange, foreign word. He spoke again, desperately aware of the hard eyes on him. The water stirred, not unlike wind on the saltpans after a summer thunderstorm. Muddy colors swirled.

The man leaned forward as the mystic channeled the magic, focusing the images.

The woman was lovely. She looked out of the water, her eyes bright and keen. She was speaking, the others near her only shadows.

“Where is she?”

The clay and ivory figures clattered to the tabletop.

“Far to the south.” The mystic continued with sardonic eyes boring into him. “An-an ocean. Near an ocean.”

The frown was thoughtful and the sudden smile terrifying. “I see…what else?”

Another cast and a chill crawled up his back. “This woman is shielded by a divine power.” He did not like that at all. Dabbling in other peoples’ holy wars was precarious. “She carries a light.”

A grunt.

A third toss. His fingers trembled. “I see a man.” The dark lord was losing interest. Boredom was deadly when dealing with this kind of power. “A young man…maybe a lover?”

The man stilled, half risen from his chair. “What?”

There was no way to take it back. And he could not speak a lie, not if the bones had been cast. He tried not to sound terrified. He failed.

“She travels with a man, my lord, a soldier. I cannot see who. Please forgi-”

The mystic grunted, too surprised to feel the pain before the day darkened into nothingness.

The body fell sideways and lay sprawled on the floor. Her image faded as the soothsayer’s magic bled into the ground.

He sat and stared into the shallow water. Her hands closed on his shoulders.

“I do not appreciate you slaying my servants.”

“You can find others, I’m sure.”

“Why such temper? Can it be you have tender feelings for the girl?”

He shook her off. “ _His_ memories.”

“Shall I take-?” He gripped her wrist as she reached for him.

“Touch my thoughts and I will kill you as I did your acolyte.”

She laughed. “Even such as _you_ could not destroy me.”

“Do not test me. I have had enough of your kind’s meddling.”

“I recall you asked _me_ for help.”

“And I thank you for it. Now be gone.”

“Always so arrogant,” she murmured. “So much time and so little has changed.”

He was alone. Servants cleared away the body.

“Leave them,” he commanded as one began to gather the divination bones. They bowed and hurried out.

The brittle figures were smooth and cool in his hand. Crudely carved into the likeness of various mystical beasts, they were ugly things that held ugly magic. The metal dish rang as he tossed them into the shallow water.

The image was blurry, but he knew well the tint of her hair. There were others. Soldiers, as the man had said, marching with her toward the ocean. A dark figure at her side, protecting, watching. Had she truly found another so soon?

He welcomed anger and pain; they fed his purpose. But this ache weakened him, distracted. The boy’s memories huddled in the back of his mind. It burned to touch them, but he needed them, needed the knowledge of the land the boy had gathered in his short, pitiful life. Needed the knowledge of _her_.

The Shadow Blade ripped through the metal dish as if it were silk. The parched ground absorbed the water quickly, until only the bones were left.

 

No one liked to be awoken in the middle of the night. Especially with a knife pressed against their throat.

Philns, the Magistrate of Asmore, held as still as he could, wondering why the assassin had taken the chance to wake him, rather than kill him outright.

“Who are you?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Tell me, Philns, who was it under the queen’s death-hood?”

Philns could not speak. He had heard the expression numb with terror, but never experienced it until now. The bed, the room, everything faded to nothingness. Everything except the warm steel against his skin and the shadow of the Sheik’ah standing over him.

“Well? Or did you not care, just some random woman, stolen in the night, slaughtered for your masquerade?”

“Felon,” Philns croaked. “Murderer, sentenced to death.”

“Ironic. And whose brilliant idea was it? Not yours, surely. You haven’t the brains.”

Philns could not speak the name. He gulped soundlessly.

“What is this now? A Vow of Silence? What powerful friends you have. What did they pay you, traitor?”

Philns trembled uncontrollably. “Mercy,” he pleaded, groping, grasping at the man. The knife pressed in, a line of icy fire.

“Mercy?” The cool tone roughened. The knife withdrew, but before he could draw a grateful breath, a hand closed around his throat, slippery with Philn’s own blood.

“You will wish I had the mercy to kill you before I am done with you. Now, Speak.”

 

Sheik wiped his hands distastefully on Philn’s bedclothes. The sniveling worm was still alive, but not much more than gibberish escaped him now. The Silence had been powerful, hard to unravel and likely breaking the man’s mind with it. Still, there had been some useful bits.

This wasn’t his usual style, leaving so much evidence. But he needed to find her and the boy soon, before the Shadow advanced. If these conspirators panicked, so much the better.

 

Chrestly was a florid man, both in complexion and dress. Sheik held a salver out to him, the freshly poured glass of wine dark against the white table cloth. The man took it absently, continuing his conversation with his wife.

Sheik bowed and stepped back. An hour passed as they enjoyed a leisurely meal. Several other glasses of wine were consumed, the first whisked away to the kitchens to be washed with the other tableware.

Chrestly coughed over his berry tart. And again, the natural red in his cheeks deepening to purple as he choked. Madame Chrestly started shrieking. Servants rushed around, useless as the drug took effect.

After the man’s body was carried out, Kyln marched around the room, bellowing orders. He was an effective captain and kept his soldiers in line and the palace secure from general intruders. Detective? Not his strong suit. He walked passed Sheik three times and didn’t recognize him.

“Test all of this food!” Kyln barked. “Lock down the kitchens! Question everyone who came in or out of this room!”

Sheik was held for interrogation until nearly dawn. Pacquin’s was boarded up, but the smell of baking bread drifted from the chimneys. The kitchen girl greeted him with a cheeky grin. She had flour on her nose.

“Out all night again?” she said. “And wanting your breakfast now I suppose?”

“If you’re not busy, lass.”

She flicked her towel at him, sending a cloud of flour dust in his direction. “Oh, no, not at all. It’s not as if I’ve two hundred sour rolls to bake!”

He grabbed one from the tray she carried past. “Any jam, lass?”

“Out!”

He went, chuckling as her threats drifted after him. She really was pretty young thing, as plump as her dumplings and feisty. If he were ten years younger, she’d be just his type.

Madame Pacquin was sorting linens. “Morning, then.”

Sheik grunted, his mouth full.

“Heard from my sister’s boy that Magistrate Chrestly died last night. Choked on a berry tart.”

“Bound to happen sooner or later, the way the man shoveled them in.”

She pursed her lips. “I don’t hold with murder, even if it may be justified.”

Sheik had no such qualms. And besides, it wasn’t a deadly poison. Just a paralytic. It was not his fault the man had a bad heart. Just look at how he ate!

She pursed her lips disapprovingly, but her curiosity got the better of her. “He was involved, then?”

“Money for the assassins.”

She sniffed. “Beast.”

Sheik watched as she folded cloths with crisp motions. “Tell me, madam. Were you happy under Zelda’s rule?”

She sent him a scorching look. “Am I to be assassinated if I don’t say yes?”

“I want to know the truth.”

Madam Pacquin set aside one stack and began on another. “For the most part. The taxes have been a burden these past few years. I know they are being used to strengthen Timun and Boethus, but many feel our coins should stay inside our walls.”

“That why you water the ale?”

She chased him out with a broom.

 

It had been years since Zelda had come to the ocean. She had forgotten the power of the wind, how clean it was. She stood on an outcrop of rock and watched the waves crash far below.

“Amazing.” Fulin, one of the Ordonian soldiers, shielded his eyes against the sun.

“First time?” she asked.

He grinned. “The Watch is the furthest I’ve been.”

They followed a narrow track along the cliff as it dipped down to the beach below. The seagrass hissed as the tough stalks bent under the endless wind. It even lifted her braids with the strongest gusts.

Enon skipped ahead, running between them with excited shouts as he counted seagulls and picked up interesting rocks.

“Look at the tiny boats!” he called to them. The sea itself shimmered and the colored sails stood out against it like bright pennants.

The small fishing village greeted them with cheery nonchalance, as if thirty-odd ragged soldiers arrived most sunny afternoons looking to charter a ship.

“Where to?”

“I need to get to the Zora,” Zelda said. “As fast as possible.”

The woman dropped a fish head into a barrel and selected a fish from another.  She flourished her knife, neatly decapitating it.

“We don’t sail in those waters,” she said firmly. “We abide by the treaty.”

“Then who does?” Sorrint demanded.

The woman eyed him. “I am sure I don’t know.”

Zelda was confused. “What treaty?”

The woman beheaded another fish. “We stay on our side of the Goddesses, they stay on theirs.”

“Goddesses?”

The woman jerked her chin. “Away east, past the Dippers, around the headland, follow the roaring current, until you hit the cross.”

Sorrint’s look of confusion was almost adorable. “Um…do you have a map?”

The woman chuckled. “Tell me, my boy, you ever set foot off shore?”

He smiled a little. “No. Ma’am. Farmers, my kin.”

“Makes sense. Talk like your mouth is full of straw.”

She directed them to a ship moored along a shallow pier. Eayn had to grab Enon by the collar to stop him plunging off the edge into the kicking waves.

An elderly sailor went over his sea chart with them as Karn sketched a rough map on the back of his.

“Not many are willing to go out that far,” they were cautioned. “Unpredictable waters. And the Zora aren’t welcoming to uninvited guests.”

Karn measured angles with his hand and drew three circles. “Rocks, I take it, these Goddesses?”

The sailor sucked at a clay pipe. “Rocks? No. Statues.”

“In the middle of the sea?” Zelda asked, amazed. “Who built them?”

The man shrugged. “Worn, but you can see they were carved at one time.”

They bought fresh provisions and moved on. Hopefully few enough people passed through to avoid word of their passage until they were long gone.

Sorrint did not like the exposure of the dunes. “There is nowhere to retreat,” he explained when Zelda asked him about his restlessness. “We’re visible for miles. Even the Watch has canyons, places of refuge.”

Enon picked blades of seagrass and made whistles with them pulled taut between him thumbs. Zelda had never seen such a thing.

“How do you do that?” she asked, part real interest, part friendly overture. He cast her a scornful look. She broke off a blade and held it out. “Please?”

Irritated by her girlish uselessness, he showed her how to hold the plant. To her surprise, a short squeak escaped.

Enon watched her curiously. “You never seen that?”

“Never.”

He frowned. “None of the boys in your city know how, then?”

Zelda looked down at his still plump cheeks. “They may have, but I was not allowed to play with them.”

“Why not?”

“I was the princess.”

He didn’t understand. “I’m basically a prince.”

“Yes. But…” How to explain to this boy who put lizards in water pails and ran barefoot through the streets of his city? “I…I just wasn’t allowed. To play.” 

They had fallen behind the group. He stopped and turned to face her. “At all?”

Her affection for her father gave her twinge of guilt. He loved her dearly, but there were things about her life she vowed never to put her children through.

“Well, I did play. But not outside. And certainly not with anyone not a child of a Magistrate or wealthy family.”

Enon looked horrified. “You never played outside?”

“We rode, of course, but only in the riding park. And we walked in the gardens in fine weather.” Today was not ‘fine’ by any description. Mist gusted by them, coating their faces and turning their clothing damp.

He gave her a long thoughtful look. “No wonder you’re so bad at everything.”

She smiled because it was true. “And why I am in awe of all the ways you can whistle.”

He grinned. “Link taught me.” The smile faded as he realized what he had said. Anger gathered between his eyes, but also grief. He did not retort rudely as she had come to expect whenever the Champion was mentioned. Instead he swallowed mightily and asked, “Do you think he’s alright?”

She risked touching his shoulder and was not shrugged off. “Link is the strongest person I know. Stronger than any Goron. He’ll fight.”

Enon smiled a little at her Goron comment, but it didn’t last. “Is it true? That he…that he is not the Hero? That he was the Enemy all along?”

“Ganon is the enemy. Our enemy. Link’s enemy. We will defeat him.”

Enon did move from under her hand then. He walked a few paces, then turned back. “But if you kill Ganon, won’t that kill Link, too?”

Zelda swallowed her own tears. “I pray to the Goddess that it won’t.”

Enon examined her. “Do you love him?”

She was taken aback and hedged. “What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m ten years old, Zelda. I know where babies come from.”

A laugh bubbled up, as brilliant as her flush. “Yes, Enon. I do. But I would fight for him none-the-less. He is my friend. And I owe him my life.”

Enon wiped mist from his cheeks. “Does he love you?”

“That I don’t know.” She hoped, if only for it to give him strength. Would it? Or would Ganon find a way to twist that and use it against her?

“Sorrint does.”

Zelda jerked back from her dark thoughts. “What?”

“I said, Sorrint does.”

“Sorrint loves Link?”

Enon had reached the end of his patience with her. “By the Goddess, you _are_ stupid. And they let you be queen?”

He protested as she soundly cuffed him. “For your disrespect of the Goddess _and_ your fellow royal. Come along, now. The others will be worried.”

They were. Sorrint and Fulin were hurrying back along the narrow path, swords out.

“My fault,” Zelda explained. “We were talking, we’re fine.”

Enon cast her a disdainful look. Sorrint cuffed him again, but lightly. “You should know better, Enon. The Watch never rests.” Enon grumbled an apology and went ahead with Fulin. Sorrint looked as if he would like to give her a smart rap on the head, as well.

“What were you talking about?”

Zelda shrugged. “Just getting to know each other.”

He gestured for her to proceed him. “How goes your progress?”

“Minimal.”

“He’ll come around.”

“I hope so. I’ll be making treaties with him in ten years’ time.” If there was a Hyrule in a decade. If they lost this war, then who knew what chaos would exist. “Or maybe have to marry him, Hylia preserve me.”

The silence lasted a little too long, giving her plenty of time to consider Enon’s words: _Sorrint does._

“None of your magistrates would be so insane.” He was amused, but something else, too.

“You haven’t met my noblemen. Unless you joined your prince on any of his galivants through my country?” Cowardice, throwing the Champion out there like a shield.

“Not I. You think _his_ Hylian is bad?”

The others were waiting for them. Enon sat on a horse, snuggled between the saddlebags as he munched an early apple. He looked from Sorrint to her and made a face which spoke volumes.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

 

There was more water as they marched south, the temperature noticeably cooler, even at midday. He stopped his horse by a shallow pool.

Dismissing his captains, he waited until he was alone.

The divination magic was crude, especially in this irregular pool. But the sun silvered the surface enough to form a faint picture. Still moving toward the ocean. The bones were clear about that. Had she reached the Zora yet?

It was easier to find her. Was she growing more powerful? A stronger draw to his dowsing?

She was smiling, her braids wiped back by wind. The others moved around her. He could not see faces, nor how many.

The image rippled and dissolved. His horse lifted its head from the water. He clutched the mystic’s bones in his fist until they bent under the strain.

He should throw them in the pool. He knew where she was going and way. He knew how to thwart her. He didn’t need this magic any longer.  Didn’t need _her_.

“My lord?”

He turned. “What?”

“A village, my lord. At the bottom of the valley.”

“Take it. We’ll camp there tonight. Organize hunting parties and prepare rations. The mountains ahead of us are treacherous.”

“Yes, sir.”

He doubted most of them would make it through the passes ahead. They were plains people, not bred for the rigors of travel in these hills. The survivors of this pitiful horde would make ideal feed for the _crytch_ waiting in the Watch.

He smiled in anticipation. The horse shied back, kicking and snorting.

The bones sank into the mud of the pond.

 

Sheik waited in the quiet room, stuffy with the smell of leather and wool. He itched his nose to prevent a sneeze. How the man could stand to live in here…

Speaking of which. The stairs creaked under his steps. A rattle, keys most likely. And a pause.

The door opened slowly, but Raphio did not enter. Sheik sat forward.

“Come, brother. No need to fear.”

Raphio stayed out in the passage. “Isn’t there?”

Sheik held out his hands. “I am unarmed.”

The younger Sheik’ah did not look relieved. “As if you needed a weapon to kill me.”

Sheik dropped his bantering tone. “Why would I want to kill you, my friend?”

“Word was you were dead. Why did you stay hidden from us?”

“I did not know who to trust.”

Raphio came in, then, and hung his satchel on a hook by the door. “And you’ve decided you can trust me?” A little betrayal, maybe? Hurt?

Sheik stayed still – with his hands visible – as the man unfastened his cloak. The rain had come in overnight and pounded the city unrelentingly.

“You thought we were complicit in the queen’s death?” Raphio demanded. He was a slight man, shorter than Sheik, but more limber, faster.

“I told you, I did not know. I had to be sure.”

Disappointment, more than anything. “I thought we were brothers.”

Raphio had a strong and sometimes misplaced sense of camaraderie with his fellow Sheik’ah. Sheik wished he could feel that way again.

“I’m sorry, Raphio. I am, truly,” he added when the man grimaced. “I…it happened so quickly. I didn’t know if she was alive or not.”

“Is she?”

“I believe so.”

For all his chivalry, Raphio was still shrewd. “I wonder who they had under the hood, then.”

“A nobody, a criminal.”

“Unexpectedly decent of them.”

Sheik smiled and it was not pleasant. “Several of their number are more squeamish than others.”

And for all the boyish handsomeness of his face, Raphio’s grin could be just as dark as his elder’s. “Tell me.”

There was still a feeling of stiffness in Raphio’s manner, a distance. But the man pledged support to his leader. “Shall I start a search for her?”

“No.” Sheik had thought this through for many days. “She is either safe in Ordon or hidden somewhere and does not want to be found.”

“Ordon?”

Sheik sighed. “It’s a long story, but the Ordon Champion is the one who got her away from the palace. He’ll look after her until we can formulate a plan.”

Raphio was bemused. “So, he really was an Ordonian prince?”

“In name. Not blood. But our Magistrates wouldn’t care; they’d hate him equally even if he could trace his line back to the dawn of Hyrule.”

Raphio chuckled. “Not often a shepherd rises to such a station. Heard about that dinner. Was he as uncouth as they say?”

“Certainly made no efforts to hide his origins.” Though he had kept quiet about the slavery thing. Why? If he was aiming to appall Zelda’ nobility, that would have done it better than his blather about goats.

Sheik lost Raphio’s conversation. _Could_ the boy trace his lineage back? He had been taken from his home, but where had that been? He had the blond hair and blue eyes common over much of the country. Maybe a reddish tint, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Could his trail be found, this many years after?

“Is Will still alive?”

Raphio frowned. “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard word of him in some time. Why?”

Sheik turned over his idea. A fruitless search, but maybe if they could find his family…to what purpose, though? Nostalgia? Legitimacy of his claim for Zelda’s hand? It would change nothing, but still…

“Sheik?”

He banished his musings. “It doesn’t matter. What I want is to ready the city for her return.”

“There has been no sign of her. We’ve been searching everywhere.”

“The prison guards said something I didn’t understand.” He closed his eyes to remember. “That the Ordonians had done something, some weeks after she disappeared.”

Raphio refilled his mug with hot tea. “Sent a declaration denouncing the coup and pledging support of the queen. Even after word she was executed spread. Talk is Ordon believes she is alive. Possibly knows where she is.”

“Any rumors where she may be hiding?”

“Several, and each more unrealistic than the last.”

Sheik knew well enough Link’s audacity. He should have the castle searched. The dungeons as well. Maybe he had disguised her as a man and they were under the conspirators very noses.

“Sincail and Kyln are pushing for us to march on Ordon.”

After all he had seen in his life, few things chilled Sheik’s heart with fear. Facing Link on the battlefield was one of those things. He shuddered. “Hylia preserve us. Are they mad?”

Raphio lifted an eyebrow. “We could take them easily.”

“In pitched battle, yes. But that is not how we would face them. The moment we enter those hills, we’d be massacred, picked off one by one. If Link let us get that far.”

Raphio’s gave him an odd look. “You know him? Personally?

Sheik nodded. “Zelda met with Ordon in the Spring.”

His brother-in-arms sat back in his chair. “Peace talks, I take it?”

Sheik sighed. “Another long story. Yes, which is why Ordon declared support. We were uniting against the Shadow gathering in Druynia. Link is truly the Hero, Goddess touched, possibly by Hylia and Ordona.”

Raphio also sighed. “This is more convoluted than the War of Teir’ma.”

Sheik had to chuckle, but his mirth faded. “The Shadow is our main concern. We need Link or we have no chance.”

Raphio rubbed his face. “And this Link has the queen. Will Ordon aid us even if she can’t be found?”

Sheik thought of the grim purpose behind Ordon’s smile, the battalions of strong, disciplined soldiers, trained to battle the darkness from the day they were born. The women who could ride and shoot as well as the men, who carried long knives even in the safety of their city. Defending a fortified castle was similar to holding a range of hills.

“Oh, they will aid us. But Hyrule would see it’s end.”

Raphio understood. “Then we must destroy this conspiracy and find the queen.”

“And as soon as possible.”

Raphio slapped his knees. “Well, then, let’s get to work.”


	9. The Fires of Ordon

**Chapter Nine: The Fires of Ordon**

Misly held her chin high, ignoring the sly looks as she moved through the palace. She had a dreamy sort of smile, one she had practiced in front of her mirror until it was perfect. Pared with her long lashes and dark curls, it spoke to a soft, sensuous nature. Normally used to invite attention, it served well as armor against the whispers.

 The first weeks had been horrid. The fear that the queen’s favorites would be punished, banished, maybe, or imprisoned. Many fled to their estates, relying on their private guard to protect them.

Misly’s mother and father quickly declared allegiance of those claiming to support the king. They did not have enough political or economic clout to risk standing by the queen. Misly did not blame them. Much. It was why she was in the palace in the first place, why she suffered through years of lessons and tutors. She had four younger siblings to think of.

She remembered them when others of the court pointed out how close to the queen she had been. When their barely veiled threats grinned malevolently at her, she draped herself on the furniture and smiled her vapid smile.

“She was a dear, wasn’t she? I would never have thought she could do such a thing to poor King Baepheus!”

She still didn’t. The one lesson she could attend and remember was literature. Keto had written this play, some two hundred years ago. The princess is deposed, believed to be executed. The king controlled by his puppets. Unbeknownst to the traitors, the princess’ lover had whisked her away. She hid disguised as a servant until she could reclaim her throne.

Zelda hadn’t seemed interested in the Ordonian prince, but as he vanished the same night, Misly suspected he had something to do with her escape. He was definitely the type to come to the aid of a distressed damsel, bold, charming, handsome.

And gone. Nothing had been seen or heard of either of them in months. Weeks passed and she smilingly played her part, watching helplessly as the infirm king was led about like a trained bear. His face was as vacant as hers, but so were his eyes.

It was sickening. She avoided the court gatherings as much as she could. It gave her an excuse to hide in her room and read. But even her favorites could not amuse her. She ended up pacing most days, restless and useless.

How would it end? When the king died, as he must soon, naturally or not, who would step into his place? And what destruction would follow if the conspirators disagreed? If they disputed each other’s claim to power? When one finally betrayed the others and civil war broke out?

Misly snapped her book shut. It was a history of the Adametene War and it turned her stomach to know she would see such a thing in her life. What hope for her siblings then?

She kicked off her slippers. She fiddled with the seam of her skirt. She fanned the pages of her book. Banishment might be preferable to this horrid waiting and watching.

The hour sounded and the guards changed shift. She listened, sitting up as she recognized the newcomer. Her dreamy smile deepened with mischief.

The young man standing outside her family’s suite was good-looking, if a little on the short side. Misly refused to slouch but tried not to be too much taller than him as she floated down the corridor.

She glanced casually at him, then looked again.

“Cadet Clarsonin,” she said with feigned surprise. “It’s been _ages_ since you were assigned to this wing.”

He flushed a little. “Afternoon, miss.”

Misly knew exactly why he had been sent to the reaches for the season. She looked down demurely, so her dark lashes would stand out against her fair skin. “Are you still mad at me?”

He struggled mightily, but in the end grinned a little. “Of course not.” She hid her smirk. She considered a season of outdoor duty a small price to pay for a half an hour spent in a dark corner with her.

“I am glad to hear it,” she murmured. She cast him a provocative look. “Until next time.”

His partner, stationed at the next passageway, scowled at her as she went by. She ignored him with supreme disdain.

But flirting could only distract from the suffocating tension, not alleviate it. As she sat in a salon with her parent’s ‘friends’ for an evening gathering, she couldn’t even work up the brash to wink at the guards.

Taxes, trade deals, horse racing. It all blurred into an hour of noise and boredom. She sat to the side, trying to avoid eye contact with the grossly inappropriate Magistrate of Retno or his handsy son.

A servant leaned down to her. “A drink, Lady?”

“No, thank you.” Chrestly’s death was still fresh in her mind. She was leery of any unsolicited offers of food or beverage.

The man did not move on. “Are you well, miss?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said with a bite of impatience. Not only was he irritating her, he was risking drawing the attention of the others in the room.

“I am glad. I know Her Majesty would be happy to hear it.”

She looked swiftly to his face. He was unfamiliar to her, the blandness of his features the same as all the other lower staff. He bowed respectfully and moved on.

She sat frozen, eyes unseeing as her mind raced. Captain Kyln had followed the orders given to him by Magistrate Jharen and Sinon. No division of the military followed the coup. ‘Evidence’ had been produced, proving the queen was conspiring. Any supporters of the queen were long gone, and the country had moved forward with barely a hiccup.

Unfortunately, the queen’s own strength had ensured this relatively peaceful take-over. Her courts were fair and respected, her magistrates duly appointed and ratified. Her own power, the order she had enforced, had been her downfall.

But now, in the palace, were there those who would rebel? Those who knew where she was?

She swallowed the acidic taste of fear. If whoever sent that message knew she supported the queen, then others did as well. She must convince her parents to let her leave the palace.

Cowardice and shame left a similar sour feel on her mouth. Her queen, her _friend_ , might be alive. But what could she do? She was a nobody, accepted into the court by default only, allowed to serve her queen in exchange for the chance to strengthen her family’s dynasty. She had no power.

“Lady Terpandra.”

She could not stop her flinch but managed to turn it into a start of surprise. “Lord Retno! You startled me!” She swatted at him. He deftly caught her hand in his. She let him. It kept it off her waist.

“You seem glum this night, my dear.”

Misly’s mother beamed at her from across the room. Retno was a prize she would give much to capture.

He kissed her hand, smirking down at her. “What has troubled you?”

Misly took refuge in a brilliant laugh. “You will think I am so silly.”

“I already do. But tell me anyway.”

“Tristrim.”

“Whom?”

She opened her eyes at him. “Tristrim. Have you not read it?”

Literature was not Retno’s strong suit, and certainly not a little known epic from a generation ago. “I am not familiar…”

“It is _so_ romantic.” She launched into a lecture about the convoluted plot and dozens of characters. “He truly epitomizes the true meaning of a hero. He reminds me of the prince.”

Retno’s smile had grown stale. “Prince?”

“Prince Link. The Ordonian.”

Retno’s smile became condensing. “I know you fancy a pretty face, my pet, but attempting to assassinate the king is hardly heroic.”

At this point, putting the man out of his misery might well be considered an act of heroism.

“That depends on who you see as the hero.” She scolded herself and giggled to remind him how ‘stupid’ she was. “That’s what my tutor always says, anyway.”

His hesitation spoke to his sudden uncertainty. She gripped his fingers and not-so-subtly drew him closer. “I have not seen you in ages, my lord.”

As she hoped, he was distracted by the indecent amount of cleavage her mother let her sport. A rich husband was essential to her family’s prosperity. It would _not_ be Retno, but she would use his interest to protect herself.

His hands did wander, like usual. She freed herself after an endless half hour by yawning hugely and standing before he could grab her arm.

“Until next time,” she said, voice full of promise.

He grinned. “I look forward to it.”

Misly escaped the stuffy room into the cool corridor beyond. Rubbing her arms against the goosebumps from the sudden change in temperature, she hurried to her own rooms. She did not want Retno to chase her out here.

She stopped suddenly. The man who just passed by…

“You, there.” The servant, the same from earlier, turned at her hail. “Yes, you. I left my wrap in the salon. Bring it to my room.”

“Yes, my lady.”

 

It was late into the night when he came. Her maid, shared with her two younger sisters, was just finishing tidying.

“Let him in,” Misly said, trying to sound sleepy and annoyed. Her heart raced until she felt sick. “I gave him an errand.”

The delicate silk he held out to her was either her own or a perfect match. How had he managed it? Misly took it with a lazy, “My thanks.”

“I am at your service, my lady.” She waved him off and lounged to her bed chamber.

Tucked inside the fabric was a small fold of paper. The Golden Eagle of Hyrule was sketched on one side. The other was blank.

Misly turned it over, the paper heavy and thick. Expensive. She received many letters and billets from all sorts of people -men, usually- and saw many types of paper. This was of the finest quality, a pure cream, no flecks of pulp. She angled it to the candlelight. Tiny glimmers of silver caught her eye.

She hurriedly rummaged through her writing desk. She found an invitation, penned over a year ago on the same paper. The queen’s beautiful scrolling hand crossed the sheet, requesting her presence at a garden party. Below the official message, she had added a personal note.

_Galgon has promised to attend._

Unexpected tears annoyed her. She dabbed carefully so as not to smear her eye make-up. How they had laughed at the unfortunate Galgon, sweating in the heat of the day and doggedly trying to get the queen off by herself.

Her tender thoughts changed to anger. For all his ‘deathless devotion’ where was he now? Hiding in his private palace, like so many other ‘supporters’ of the queen. Had no one aided her? Ordon, yes, but only to help her escape the trap that had been laid under their very noses. He deserved to be her Consort, not any of these other sycophants.

And with her anger, hopelessness. What could she do? She was a nobody, no wealth, no influence. The only asset she had was her body. She shuddered. She would do many things for her queen, but not that.

She smoothed the mysterious note. The Eagle’s wings were spread in flight, a piece of the Triforce clutched in each claw and beak. She stilled, looking again.

In the right claw was not the Triforce of Power, but a crescent. The moon? In Hylian art, the moon was usually depicted as full. A crescent moon meant decay, aging. Or deception, something hidden.

But where?

The shawl held no other secrets. It _was_ hers; she recognized a carefully mended tear at one corner. She sat and stroked the blue silk until her candle sputtered. She snuffed it, guilty about the waste, and continued to think in the moonlight.

She surged to her feet. Heart racing again, she threw open the curtains. Moonbeams fell on her desk. The paper glowed with more than silver threads.

Misly read the message, terrified and excited.

_Epide Van’le, Pacquin._

Epide was an archaic word for a passage or bridge. Van’le was a constellation she thought, but which one she had no idea. Anything pertaining to physical sciences was gibberish to her. But she knew who to ask.

“Han! Han, wake up!”

Misly’s next younger sister lifted her head. “Misly? Why are you-?”

“Hush!” The third sister slept like a rock, but she wanted to take no chances. “I have a question.”

Han groped for her pillow. “Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Go away, Misly.”

“It’s about stars.”

That got both her eyes open. “Stars?” she echoed, perplexed.

“It’s from a book,” Misly lied. “A constellation called Van’le.”

“What about it?”

“Which one is it?”

“You’re joking, right?”

Misly gave her a shake. “Do you think I would be in here at midnight for a joke? What does it look like?”

“Look it up in one of your stupid books.” Han was difficult at the best of times.

“Please, Han. Show me which one, it’s important!”

Han got up grumbling. “Why?”

“It just is. Can we see it tonight?”

“What, meeting some boy in the gardens?” Han said scathingly.

A good enough excuse. “Tell mother and I’ll switch your backside!”

Han shrugged. She found most young men sadly inferior. “Why would she care? It’s what she wants, right?”

“Not this man. Now, where is it?”

Han yawned “You are stupid, Misly.” She didn’t even open the window. “You can’t miss it.”

Misly stared uncomprehending at the stretch of night sky before her. “Yes, I’m stupid. Which one?”

“It’s called the Spear for a reason.” Han traced a line down the window. Five stars made an almost perfect line, pointing straight down to the horizon. Pointing to what?

“What direction is that?”

Han’s exasperation was of epic proportions. “ _Really_ , Misly?”

She bristled. “How did your recitation of the Ballad of Furon go today?”

Han scowled, but relented. “Southwest.”

Which bridge lay to the southwest of the palace? And what was Pacquin?

“Thanks,” Misly kissed Han’s head.

“Can I go back to bed now?”

“Yes. And don’t tell mother.”

Han snorted rudely. Misly took that as a promise. Now she needed a map.

 

Raphio was surprised. He didn’t recognize the Maiden Misly of Terpandra until she spoke.

With no face paint and her hair trapped under an unattractive snood, she was pretty, but not the ravishing beauty everyone claimed.

She recognized him. She paled a little, but her voice didn’t falter as she said, “I’m here about the opening for kitchen girl. My name’s Van’le.” She held out a limp sheet of paper, cut from a circular.

He grunted and shouted over his shoulder. “Ma’am, there’s a girl here.”

“Then feed her! I’m busy!” It was just after opening and the kitchen was still prepping for the lunch rush.

“‘Bout a job?”

Madame Pacquin made a show of her reluctance. She appeared in the doorway between the bar and the kitchen, a tray of freshly risen rolls braced on one shoulder. “Sit, then. Be with you in a bit, girl.”

Misly clambered onto a stool. She sat with her hands folded tightly. In the guise of a lower-class working girl, she looked awfully young. Dark eyeliner aged a woman, even if they thought otherwise.

Madame Pacquin came out of the steamy kitchen like a leviathan breaching the waves. She leaned over the slight girl and raised an eyebrow. “You looking for work?”

She had some courage, he gave her that. Misly swallowed mightily and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s hard work.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t tolerate shirkers nor light-skirts in my husband’s place.”

A flash in her fine eyes. Raphio smiled to himself.

“I understand, ma’am.”

Madame Pacquin flickered her fingers at her. “Tulin will take care of you.”

Obedient to the Mistress’ command, Raphio beckoned the girl to follow him into the store room. She stood in the dim space with her hands tucked into her cloak. He handed her a small wrapped package which she whisked away into the folds of her skirts.

“You know what you getting into, girl?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“We have eliminated certain members of this conspiracy. The others grow suspicious. They use magic to shield themselves. We need you to gather information. You have more freedom in some areas of the palace. We’ll be in contact.”

“Yes, sir.”

He grabbed her arm as she tried to leave. He tightened his grip until she winced.

“Betray us, and I will kill you myself.”

She met his eyes and he saw her fear, but something stronger burned through it. Her chin lifted. “I do not take kindly to threats. I gave you my word. If you do not trust me, you have only your own judgement to blame.”

A little surprised, he released her. She smoothed her sleeve.

“Are we done? I will be missed.”

“Yes. And…” He hesitated a moment. “And I apologize.”

She gave a him a regal nod and swept out.

 

The colors of fall settled like gems on Ordon’s forests. Against the clear sky, the trees glowed red and orange, balanced by the dark green of the conifers. The fields held golden promise, heavy with grain.

The first of the fires caught easily. The wooden buildings, thatched and coated with resin to render them water-proof, had little resistance to the flames.

He had spent many hours training with the other soldiers to contain and extinguish an accidental blaze. He had labored frantic days and nights to stop lightening-fires from consuming this city in the dry years.

Now, he walked through the smoke and heat and reveled in its destruction. It hurt, seared his skin and clawed at his throat. But it felt good. He _felt_ it, on every inch of his body.

One building would not burn. Built of redstone carried block by block from a distant quarry, the temple to Ordona endured the onslaught. The wide plaza at the base of the steps held the flames at bay.

Bent nearly double, the High Priest Cantor watched sightless as his home fell to ash. He shuffled forward, feeling his way with a stick, his sandaled feet tentative on the shallow steps. He came to the center of the plaza and peered up into Link’s face.

“Why do you burn your home, Link?”

The roaring in his head drowned out the noise of the flames. “This is not my home!”

“My boy-”

The withered man was nothing to his strength. Cantor clutched at his gauntleted wrists, toes scrabbling for purchase.

_“You do not own me.”_

Cantor fell in a pitiful heap. He pushed himself from the ground. He looked up with tears streaming down his face.

“I am so sorry, Link.”

“Sorry? _Sorry_?” Even the fires retreated from his rage. “Sorry that you ripped me from my home? Sorry you condemned a child to torture and depravity? Each night the moon rose, as your witch’s compulsion drove me to the edge of madness? Look at me, Cantor! _Look!_ ”

The command was irresistible. The man they called a Hero shook with his fury and betrayal. Did he realize his voice shifted timbre as the two souls in his heart battled for dominance, each deadly in their anger?

“Tell _him_ your regrets, old man. You think he’s still fights for you? You actually believe he wants to return to the hell you built for him? That his ‘ _family_ ’ expected of him?

“You talk of choice, of free will? What freedom did I have? Burdened from childhood with Her yoke? When you sent me to face death in the name of righteousness? When you forced me to heal over and over, to rise again your weapon?”

The Shadow Blade was hungry. Cantor saw his death in it, as hard and unforgiving as the stones beneath him.

“That’s all I ever was to you. A tool. A _slave_.”

Cantor rose to his knees, then painfully to his feet. He would not die groveling before this monster who stole his son. “No, Link. You are our hope.”

“Hope.” He spat the word, making it foul, vulgar. “See what your ‘hope’ has won you.”

Cantor watched the sick gleam of the blade as it rose, cutting through the fog of his failed eyesight. He looked to the face of the boy he loved and smiled tenderly.

“Don’t stop fighting, Link. You are stronger then him. Remember how much we love you.”

He didn’t know who’s bellow it was, the Hero’s or the Enemy’s. He closed his eyes.

 

The priest fell limp to the ground. The man he had raised fell to one knee, still snarling. Sweat ran down his face, cutting paths through the soot. It masked the tears, wrenched from him in painful gasps.

The Blade made a dull sound against the ground as the broken Champion wept with bitterness.

 

The city was gone. Every building, every tree, every garden. The beautifully worked stone was marred by char, some of it cracked under the intensity of the flames.

Ordon was destroyed.

“What now, my lord?”

He dragged his eyes from the smoke still drifting up into the dawn. It had been a mistake to come here. The boy’s spirit was too strong on this land, Ordona’s influence breaking through the barriers trapping him. His pain was intense, suffocating, but only because his love had been deep.

“The Gap is sealed,” he said. “But there are other ways into the Demon Watch.”

 

Zelda came awake with a gasp. Retching, she nearly fell from her bunk. Her soldiers slept around her, oblivious to the smoke choking her, coating her mouth and nose.

She stumbled with the kick of the waves, fighting to reach the door. Tav was on guard, sitting with his back against the hull.

He came fully awake. “Your Majesty?” He peered at her, even as the flames gnawed at him. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

She could not answer. She rushed out into the night. The moon was setting, casting a silver path along the waves. Her legs wanted to run, escape the fires that consumed her. She put her face to the brisk wind. It washed away the fear and the nausea. The anger.

“Zelda?”

It was Sorrint. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the flames again. Sick, hungry things.

“Zelda, what is it?”

“Nightmare,” she said. Her voice cracked on the lie. Much more than that.

_Great Goddess, what has he done?_

“Are you well?”

“I will be,” she said. Maybe another lie. Could she be well, knowing what atrocities his hands committed under Ganon’s control? Could she be well after telling this man his home was destroyed by his own prince? Should she tell him?

Sorrint’s hand pressed into her shoulder. “What has happened?”

“Link-” She drew a sharp breath. “ _Ganon_ has taken Ordon.”

Sorrint gripped her hard and spun her to face him. “What?”

“The city, it’s gone.”

“The people, the king-?”

She reluctantly thought over her visions. “Safe. No one was in the city.”

“Are you _sure_?

“Ordona says they are safe.”

He sagged a little. “Thank you,” he whispered. He dropped his hands and stood looking down at his palms. “How could he…?”

She had spoken the truth: _Link_ had destroyed his home. His anger had been his own. Ashamed, but real. How could he do such a thing? But Sheik had warned her months ago as they planned the secret trip into Ordon.

_He is dangerous, my queen. He must be kept in check, or he will destroy us all._

She had dismissed the warning, trusting in the same lie he had been told.

_Do not underestimate him. I have seen him with my own eyes. He has power we cannot fathom._

She had seen it, too, and marveled that he could hold it back. When he showed a fraction of his strength, she had blinded herself to the implications, believing the false hope.

She caught her thoughts and berated herself. She had to believe in him. She had to trust. He had to be the Hero or all was lost.

But what now? Where were the people of Ordon? She had not prepared a place for them. She hadn’t declared herself, had no army, no support. Ganon was at her border, readying to invade and she had nothing to stand against him.

She leaned against the rail, palms pressed to her eyes.

She did not know she spoke the same plea he had many times, overcome by the same hopelessness, the weight of duty.

_I can’t do this._

He was uncontrollable. Her influence would be nothing. Some pretty face he hardly knew, contending with a lifetime of disappointment, both in himself _and_ those he trusted? Ganon was too powerful. She was a fool to hope. She would fight; she _had_ to fight, but she would lose and her people would fall with her.

She didn’t realize she was sobbing until Sorrint pulled her close. He held her tightly, not in a way to create tension, but as a comrade. A brother.

She let herself cry for a few minutes, then straightened and wiped her face impatiently.

“I’m sorry,” she began.

“Don’t be,” he said. “You of all people have reason to weep.”

She sniffed mightily. “Thanks.”

He stood by her as the last of the moonbeams faded. The night was very dark and the stars magnificent.

“What do we do?”

She wished she knew. Hylia was still uncertain herself, unusually and disturbingly vague. Zelda did not like it; her goddess always knew, was always decisive. Had she come to rely on that too heavily? Could she think for herself or was she nothing more than a puppet?

“I don’t know, Sorrint. We can only go forward. We must meet the Zora and beg for aide.”

The soldier started to speak but broke off. “What’s that?”

She looked the direction he pointed. Against the constellations, dark forms rose from the sea.

“It must be the Sisters.”

“No, _that_.”

Another shape, closer than the horizon. “Another ship?” she guessed. Even with no moon, the water itself was gleaming faintly.

“No Hylian ships come out this far,” he reminded her. He watched the patch of blackness move closer for a tense moment more. “I’m getting the captain.”

She followed, rousing the sailor from his sleep. He grumbled about nervy dirt-eaters and raised his glass in the direction they indicated.

“Nothing,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Zelda was too wound to sleep, so she sent Sorrint to bed and stayed up, watching the horizon until the sun rose.

 

The Sisters were astounding. Towering from a small cluster of rocks miles from the mainland, they looked southeast over the churning ocean. Each held up a hand, or what was left of one. Ordona’s arm had broken long ago and lay half-submerged in the shallows at the base of the figures.  It was easily the length of the ship.

“Who built them?” she asked.

The captain shrugged. “The first Hylians to come to these waters. Had powerful magic, it’s said. And the Zora helped.”

Hylia’s stern countenance could not be softened by seabird nests tucked into the arches of her crown. Ordona’s smile was as gentle as ever. And Faroe…

Zelda examined the third sister. The Goddess of Death and Prophecy had a place in the pantheon, but little love in Hyrule. She haunted the burial grounds, her disciples grudgingly paid for their services and then sent on their way, lest they taint the lives around them.

As the ship moved on and the Sisters fell behind, Zelda stared back, thinking.

 

She was eating dinner when the alarm came.

“To the guns!”

The pounding of feet and creak of wood as the ship was brought about. She followed the shouts onto the deck.

“What is it?”

“Raiders!”

Their ship, the _Dancer_ , lived up to her name. She was slender and quick. Turned full to the wind, she raced away from the oncoming ship. It was a large vessel, double-masted to their single.

“Can we out run them?” Zelda asked.

The captain shook his head, mouth grim.

She listened again to her Goddess’ uneasy murmurs. Frustrated, she shut them out. What would _he_ do? Likely, something reckless and utterly insane.

“Come about.”

“What?” The captain’s eyes were busy on his sailors’ work.

“Tack to meet them. Surrender.”

He scowled at her. “This ship is my livelihood.”

“You will keep your ship.” Her voice was strong and confident. It didn’t feel like hers. “Come about. I will parlay with them.”

“Are you _mad_?” Sorrint demanded. She knew then this was the correct action. The voice she did not recognize confirmed it.

“I will not be cowed. We meet them.”

“Zelda-”

She barked her orders. “Lieutenant! Gather the men on deck.”

He snapped his mouth shut, taken aback, “Yes, ma’am.”

Tacking into the wind, their progress slowed. The pirate ship surged forward, guns out.

“Furl sails.”

Now they were cautious, surprised at the sudden change of attitude of the smaller ship.

The ocean yawned hungrily below her, armored and armed as she stood on a railing. Davin had dunked her in a lake in full kit. She’d managed three minutes of frantic treading before the weight had pulled her under. The double-masted ship slowed, keeping its distance. The glint of spyglasses showed her presence had been noted.

Five, ten minutes passed, the _Dancer_ making no effort the flee, the pirates standing wide off starboard. Someone dove over the side. Zelda tracked their movements through the water and was not surprised as they burst from the waves and landed on deck in graceful leap.

The Zora was easily eight feet tall. A male? With a wide face and pointed teeth. Zelda strode up to meet him, trying to channel Link’s confidence. It was a giddy feeling, the same as when he stood before her palace and declared himself a prince.

The Zora leered down at her. “Well, what have we here?”

The Ordonians had dispersed into the watching sailors. At her signal, they would attack. He was not as large as the Goron king, but she swallowed the same trepidation as Link had when challenging a creature that could kill her in a single blow. She kept her eyes forward and face calm.

“I am offering myself up for surrender. You may take myself and my men captive. The captain and his crew will go free with their ship.”

He smiled and it was ghastly. “I am afraid I cannot do that.”

“You do not know who I am.”

“Nevertheless, you do not interest me at the moment.” The Zora shifted his attention to the captain. “My business is with Master Penth.”

The captain was horribly pale. He gripped his sword in both hands. “What do you want, Pacquin?”

“I warned you what would happen should you show your colors in these waters again.”

Penth pointed an accusatory finger at Zelda. “We’re on the queen’s business!”

The Zora turned to sneer at her. “The Hylian queen? Do you take me for a fool?”

She stood with hands on hips. “I am Zelda.”

“The queen was executed for treason.”

Is that the story they spread? Cowards. “Thankfully, my head is still attached to my body. I do not know what lies those who betrayed me have told, but I am Zelda, rightful queen of Hyrule.”

He wasn’t convinced. “If so, why do you consort with this…person?” Somehow, he managed to convey the utmost revulsion in that word.

“Obviously, I am not in a position to be selective in my allies. Whatever his crimes against your people, I apologize.”

This Pacquin’s smirk was irritating her. “ _My_ people, your excellence?”

She turned to see Penth retreat toward the bow, his men following his lead, weapons out, as more Zora scaled the hull.

“Your Majesty?” Sorrint called.

_Wait!_

She held up a hand. “Hold, Lieutenant.”

The Ordonians did, standing silent as the boarders menaced the sailors. Penth looked to the Ordonians’ stern faces and went red.

“Cowards! You just going to let them slaughter us?”

Sorrint approached Pacquin. “What is your quarrel with this man, sir?”

The Zora jumped forward and snatched the captain out of the group as easily as a child grabbing a toy. Penth thrashed in his grip until he was thrown to the deck.

Pacquin’s blade sliced through the man’s shirt. Hunched over, with his hands over his head, the tattoo between his shoulder blades was clear in the nooning sun. A black triangle, with a smaller one cut out of the base.

Sorrint’s snarled curse shocked her. He lunged forward and gripped the man by his hair, dragging him over.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where did you get this mark?”

“Please,” Penth whimpered. “Have mercy! I have gold, jewels, we are but humble sailors-” He choked, Sorrint’s dagger drawing blood at his throat.

“He is of the Sligo,” Pacquin told the soldier.

Sorrint spoke through gritted teeth. “You have proof?”

“I do.” He signaled to one of the Zora. Against the shiny blue scales on the creature’s chest, a dull scar in the same angular shape stood out in the bright sun. “Inflicted aboard this very ship.”

Penth let out a gurgle as Sorrint’s knife jerked through his windpipe. Sorrint turned on the Hylian crew, a grimness she didn’t recognize in his face. _‘Iltz eko.”_

It was an Ordonian phrase she knew too well.

_Destroy them._

Pacquin’s protest went unheeded. He stepped forward to try to stop the slaughter, but he did not know the ferocity of Ordon. His crew scrambled out of the way, some diving back into the sea to escape.

Zelda turned from the carnage, limbs numb and shaking. A sick silence fell, only the harsh breaths of the soldiers rising over the noise of the wind.

Pacquin dropped his mocking attitude. “Who _are_ you?”

Even Enon had blood on his knife. Sorrint wiped his sword clean. He sheathed it and faced Pacquin with eyes as hard as steel.

“I am Sorrint of the Dhatin, Third Lieutenant of the Demon Watch, Shield of the Champion. This man’s people committed atrocities against our prince that cannot be forgiven.”

Zelda’s vision narrowed. A sharp pain in her eye, lines of fire dragging across her back, fear, suffocating fear and shame, cruel hands holding her down, ripping at her clothes, laughing cruelly as they-

“Zelda!”

She was on her knees. Sweat dripped from her face to the weathered deck. She gasped raggedly, the briny air unable to satisfy her hunger. A need, a desperate hole inside her.

“Your Majesty, what is it?”

She coughed at the foul taste in her mouth. She forced it down and pulled herself back to the present, to the sun, the water. The creak of the timbers, the hiss of the rigging. Pitch, salt, leather.

She stood, waving off Tav. “I’m fine,” she panted. “Memories. His memories.”

“The Champion’s?”

She nodded. “When Ganon broke him-” She bit off her words, altering them. “When he broke the Sword, he broke Ordona’s protection.”

Sorrint muttered something between a prayer and a curse. “And you can see them?”

Only seeing would be a mercy. “Just flashes, moments.”

He was appalled. “Cantor told me what he saw in Link’s mind. Ask Ordona to give you the same protection.”

She refused. “I need them. I need to know him if I am to save him.”

“Wait, wait,” Pacquin interrupted “Did you say _Link_?”

Sorrint looked up to the Zora. “Link of the Gotkasi is our Prince and the Champion of Ordon. You know of him?”

Pacquin glanced between them, possibly alarm on his strange face. “What has happened to him? Please,” he added, when Sorrint hesitated. “Please, he is my friend.”

“He…” Sorrint was at a loss. He looked helplessly to her. How to explain such a thing?

“This man you know,” she said slowly. “My height, light hair, blue eyes, a scar here on his forehead?”

“Yes, yes, Master of the Sword, Slayer of the Wrurakar, worst singer in the land, and herder of goats,” Pacquin said impatiently. _“Is he alive?_ ”

Zelda had to sit. She found a barrel, not caring about the corpses sprawled grotesquely a few paces from her.

“He is alive. But he…he’s been…?” Cursed? Possessed? Broken? She hated that word. Hated that she could even think it, hated that he thought it of himself, even before Ganon. Hadn’t they healed him? Did they not see the wounds still festering in his heart? Why hadn’t he asked for help? Told his father about the numbness, the anguish he carried?

She gripped the hilt of her Sword, drawing on its power. “He’s been taken by Ganon.”

Paquin stared at her. “How?”

She could only shake her head, unable to speak of that day. She had told only Cantor everything. She couldn’t destroy their hope in him, their trust that a Hero would come. If his family abandoned him, what else could save him?

Pacquin’s crew had returned. They waited silently as their leader paced the deck.

“Then we must find him at once!”

“You don’t – he has not been captured. He – his body, his soul – has been taken. He _is_ Ganon.”

The Zoras murmured fearfully. Pacquin stilled his pacing. “Link, our Link, is being controlled by the Demon-king?”

Zelda nodded. The Zora’s shark-like teeth clashed together. “And do you plan to save him?”

“If I can.”

Pacquin jerked a nod. “Then I will aide you. Fustra! Search the ship! Slos! Bring the _Zephyr_ about!” He looked down at her a moment, then bowed. “Your Majesty, accept my apologies for my earlier behavior.”

She stood and made him a regal, if shaky, curtsy. “A misunderstanding, on both our parts.”

“You, Lieutenant…”

“Sorrint, sir.”

“I understand your vengeance. But, please, restrain yourselves in the future. I cannot risk too much official Hylian attention on my activities.”

Sorrint was not a trusting man. “And what are those, exactly?”

Pacquin shrugged, resuming his lofty airs. “Some say piracy, others vigilante. Many, a hero. It depends greatly on which end of the sword you face.”

Sorrint cracked a grin. “Tell me where to find more of these Sliga, and I will leave you to your raiding in peace.”

Pacquin laughed while his people tossed the bodies overboard. “Unfortunately, the treasure I seek is held by these same Sliga. Slaves,” he explained with a menacing smile. “The Sliga operate the largest slaving trade in the Hafbru sea.”

 

Pacquin’s ship was built for the tall Zora people. But once aboard, they found Hylians among the crew, Theicans, and even a few Gerudo. Many had the Sliga brand, as well as others.

“Useful,” Pacquin mentioned when Zelda noted it. “Allows them to infiltrate. Link did it so often, I’m surprised they never recognized him.”

“Link helped you free slaves?”

Pacquin nodded. “With obvious reason.”

How had she not known? Surely, she would have heard if the Champion was seeding revolt in the south?

 Pacquin stopped, webbed hand braced against a wall as the ship leaned over with the thrust of the waves. “I cannot express the depth of his hatred for the Sliga. If I had let him, he would have torn them apart. But that would endanger those still enslaved, driven the other clans to different ports, forced them to conceal themselves. Until Hyrule-” He checked, then continued. “Until _you_ do something about this, I can only pick off the vulnerable. Like Penth.”

Zelda knew well enough her failure in this. “Your people do not support you?”

“They do not care for Hylian affairs. Consider you vulgar, petty. What is it to them that you enslave or kill others of your own kind?”

“Why do you care?”

He fingered a pendant hanging at his neck. It was a lovely blue stone, set in gold. “Many reasons, but most of all, my wife.”

“Was she a slave?”

“No, but she lived in a town that opposed the trade.”

“Your wife is Hylian?”

He laughed at her surprise. “I met her during a raid by the Magistrate’s militia. I had been cornered by soldiers. She broke a mop handle over one of their heads.” He smiled in fond recollection. “Knew at that moment I could wed no other.”

“Where is she now?”

“Castle Town. She receives the slaves we free and trains them, finds them work.”

Zelda could only shake her head. “Master Pacquin, you are the most honorable of men.”

He smiled. “You’ll remember that when I instigate rebellion in your Tatola Province?”

Zelda’s smile was as predatory as his. Link’s memories were strong here. He had spent many weeks aboard this ship, his emotions powerful and keen. She knew what he would do, what he had burned to do since the first time he had seen a mark like his. It was a girl his own age. He would never forget the emptiness in her face, her spirit broken by years of labor and abuse.

“We are not only going to instigate rebellion,” she promised. “I will end this abomination, destroy those who perpetrate such evil, and take back my throne.”

Pacquin examined her. “You may cast your country into war.”

“So be it.”

“When Ganon comes, you may be crippled.”

Hylia spoke clearly for the first time in a month. “It must be done.”

“Then I will aide you, Your Majesty. What is to be done first?”

 

She couldn’t sleep. The ship moved lightly over the water, less pitching in the larger, more powerful vessel. It was a pleasure to travel in it.

She walked the deck, murmuring greetings to the crew members on watch. A Hylian, after saluting respectfully, pointed to the stern.

“The little one, ma’am.”

She found Enon huddled behind some rigging lines. He sat with his arms wrapped tight around his legs, eyes open and staring. She settled next to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

He suddenly turned to her, gripping her tunic, his face pressed tight to her shoulder.

“Tell me, dear one. Don’t let it fester.”

“I was so angry,” he whispered. “I _hated_ them, even Ven. And when Sorrint said to-” He swallowed. “To kill them, I _wanted_ to.”

She stroked his head as he shivered. He was too young to have been sent to the Watch. This was the first time he had killed and it was born of fury and vengeance, not duty or survival.

“I know, Enon. And it will be alright.”

“It is wrong to kill in anger,” he said desperately. “Mama, Mistress Lelin, they all say it is wrong. A weapon is to protect, a sacred duty given by Ordona.”

“Those men had done terrible things. Or supported those who did.”

“Mama says we must not judge. Only the Goddess can know what is in our hearts.”

She cupped his still round face and drew his eyes up to hers. “Ordona knows your heart, Enon of Ordon. She knows you are a brave, kind boy. She knows your love for your family, for your cousin, for all of Ordon.” She kissed his forehead. “And She loves you.”

“But-”

“She loves you, brave Enon. And She knows that sometimes a warrior, a king, must make choices, hard choices, that he may regret later. The regret proves your heart is good. _You_ are good.”

He sniffed once, twice. He dropped his head to her chest and cried, not loudly like a child, but as a man overcome with remorse. She held him close until he drew away. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I…I’d like to be alone now.”

“Of course.” She stood and looked down at his fair curls. “Talk to Sorrint about it.”

He shook his head, casting her an anguished look.

“When you are ready. Let him explain his choice. Have him tell you what Link suffered, both as a slave and as the Champion.”

Enon blanched. “I…I know a little…”

“Then you can understand his feelings. I spoke the truth, that Sorrint loves Link. They all do. He is their Prince, but more importantly, he is their brother. He fought for them, protected them.”

She waited, but he said nothing. She brushed his hair smooth, knowing his mother must despair of it ever behaving. It suited him perfectly.

“Try to sleep, Enon. You will see more clearly in the daylight.”


	10. The Queen's Business

**Chapter Ten: The Queen’s Business**

Misly giggled and flirted, her fan rapping eager hands and fluttering coyly. Her mother beamed at her, pleased she was being so open to the advances of the wealthiest men in the kingdom.

Age and marital status didn’t seem to concern her. Misly loved her mother and so was disappointed in her. She took strength knowing this was for much more than catching a powerful spouse.

The amulet hidden under her bodice was cold, even up against her skin. She could see Tulin against a wall, anonymous in his servant’s uniform. She was sure that wasn’t his real name. He responded too slow to it, the slightest hesitation. He wore the colors of Ypres, who had so many private servants, there was no way he knew them all on sight.

How many glasses of wine had she sipped and discretely left on side tables? How many masked faces has she smiled on, encouraging their attentions?

Her own mask was ironically of a Sheik’ah style. She didn’t know if this Tulin and his fellow conspirators knew she knew of their origins. But she had recognized the design of the amulet from one of her oldest history books. Her fan was another of their items, touched by some sort of magic. Her fingers tingled as she stroked the silk.

“Madame,” a man said, lifting her hand to his lips. The fur of his Red Lynel mask tickled her wrist.

The amulet burned against her skin. She furled her fan and tapped his shoulder playfully. “Oh, you,” she trilled. It sounded horribly false to her ears, but he was too drunk to notice.

He took advantage of the crowd and noise to pull her close. “Tell me, my dear, your mother still angling for a rich husband for you?”

She pressed her hand against his chest, holding him off. “Are you saying I’m mercenary, my lord?”

“You’ve certainly stolen _my_ heart.”

She highly doubted that. “Unfortunately, I am not interested in hearts, Jharen.”

He reeked of wine. “What are you interested in?” he asked in her ear. She spun out of his arms with a well-practiced twist. She tweaked his nose when he tried to grab her again.

She didn’t answer, only curtsied and moved on with a sway in her hips and a sultry glance.

The amulet warmed for three other attendees, two more men and a woman. They were harder to mark. She managed to whack one in the face by ‘accident,’ excusing herself with a slurred titter. The others had their backs jabbed unceremoniously as a crowd edged past.

Finally, she could escape. She drew off her mask and smoothed her frizzled hair. It was insufferably hot. The weather was cooling and the furnaces had been lit.

Tulin moved out of the shadows to pace next to her. He was now dressed as a higher servant. An illusion? Or a very thick coat, with two liveries sown back-to-back. That seemed somehow mundane.

“Well done,” he praised.

She passed him the fan. Her hand was itching from clenching it all night. “Mama will be so disappointed when Jharen vanishes.”

Tulin chuckled and she shivered. “We’ll see how permanent his removal must be.”

They had reached her parent’s suite, tucked back in a wing with other barely noble families. He bowed to her with professional disdain.

“Miss Terpandra,” he said, his tone once more that of a supercilious lackey. She waved him off and went in with her head high.

Her mother woke her the next morning with a gleeful shout of laughter.

“Misly! Misly, wake up!”

Misly grimaced at the light from the windows, even dulled by clouds. “What is it?” she grumbled.

“The best news, my love! Trevil has asked for your hand in marriage!”

Misly stared at her, uncomprehending. “Isn’t he already married?”

“Silly! His son, Trevil. Oh, darling, this is the most wonderful news! My dearest girl, I am so proud of you!”

Misly sat numb. Trevil was one of the men she had marked last night, the amulet like a brand against her heart. He had had direct contact with the assassins, met them in person. And his son had never paid the least attention to her.

Luckily, she was known for being grumpy in the morning. She scowled at her mother and flopped back down on the bed.

“Couldn’t you have waited to tell me until I woke up?”

Her mother paid her no heed, chattering about the different plantations Trevil controlled. “And you must attend to your Civics lessons, dearest! Young Trevil is rumored to be under consideration for the open seat in Easyren! You must know at least _something_ about modern government, darling.”

Misly huddled under the duvet, heart and mind racing. What should she do? Contact the Sheik’ah, yes. But what if they want her to go along with it? Continue the charade? With both parties of conspirators knowing the other? She knew this plot and it didn’t end well.

She grumbled through her morning abulations. She perked up when her mother start gushing about all the beautiful silks and fine wools she would enjoy.

“And Trevil’s colors suit you perfectly. And those _abula_! You will look ravishing!”

Misly did admire the flowing costume traditional in Easyren, but not enough to die for it.

Han was as skeptical as always. “Do you even like him?” she asked pointedly. At fourteen, she was too pragmatic for her own good.

Misly wasn’t sure she’d ever spoken to him, outside of formal greetings. “Of course, silly! He’s _so_ charming.”

Han wrinkled her nose. “You say that about everyone.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Han.”

That riled her younger sister as she intended, but unfortunately didn’t make her go away. “What about mister star-gazer?”

“Whom?”

“The man you met in the gardens. Who likes stars?”

Misly stared blankly at Han’s reflection. “Stars?”

“Seriously, Misly, you are such a _ninny_!”

Misly remembered that night, only a week ago? “Oh, him. He’s nobody.” Not a lie. She hated lying to her sister.

Han only sniffed. “Well, I’m glad you’re marrying this Trebin or whoever.”

“Trevil, dear.”

Han turned away, clutching her book to her chest. “Really, Misly. I am glad. And I’m sorry.”

Misly caught her arm before she could scamper off. “Sorry for what, Han?”

Han scowled. “That you have to marry such a pig just so Balka can go to school and I can buy more stupid books about fossils.” Misly stared as her stoic sister blinked back tears. “Anyway, I know you think I’m brusque and that I think you’re a self-centered flirt, but I know what a sacrifice your making, marrying the wealthiest man to offer for you, no matter who he is, just ‘cause Mama wants a bigger house and for Nelsin to be a Magistrate someday.”

“I’m not-”

“Just promise me that if he beats you or if he’s cruel or doesn’t let you read those stupid romance novels you like, that you’ll take him before Priestess Kahlin and demand a divorce.”

Misly had never seen her sister so distraught. She gripped her shoulders, clad in a faded hand-me-down dress. “I promise, Han.”

Han sniffed noisily and wriggled out of Misly’s grip. “Alright, then.” She hurried away, head down.

Her mother whirled into the room, flourishing a vibrant green gown. “Wear this, darling. It nearly matches Trevil’s colors!”

 

The Demon Watch spread before him, the earth yellow and chalky with lime. The alkaline soil choked most plants, leaving only stunted trees whose roots struggled deep enough to find the meager water below. No animals and few plants could live in this inhospitable place.

It was an ancient land. Buried cities called out to him. He knew many of them, had walked their streets in previous lives. He remembered the cool wind off the ocean long ago, the way the sun filtered through the canopies on a wide terrace in another. And in the end, as all of man’s creations, they all came to dust and decay. Their memories cursed this place, leaving it barren and hostile.

He stepped out into the emptiness, the remnants of his army arrayed at the edge of the wasteland. The boy knew this land better even than the valley behind. He had spent much of his life scouring it, pushing the darkness back. But he could not destroy it.

The sun set behind him, falling behind the Shadow and casting the desert into an early twilight. He waited. He had waited so long for this moment. Months, years, generations of waiting, planning, watching.

And the witch of Ordon thought she could stop him in a single night? That he would give up the boy, this perfect boy, for whom he had waited for so long?

A pity he was raised in squalor, set to menial work among lesser men. Herding goats? Mucking about in the mud of the fields? And he the Chosen One! But his body was strong, one of the strongest he’d possessed, despite it all. Strong enough to bear Power with it destroying his mind.

And his soul! Even now it struggled, but as the mouse in the hawk’s claw. Wretched, brave, and futile. He weakened each day and soon he would be nothing, consumed by the Power that created him.

The shadows rustled, coming together to form a shape. Outlines, figures, growing stronger as the Light faded. A creature stepped forward. It sniffed the air, tasting the scent of human flesh. Its eyes darted back and forth.

“Come,” he commanded it.

It crept across the sand until it stood before him. Stupid, as they all were, but cunning. And hungry. The boy had done the witch’s task well, weakened the connection between this world and the Other. Every human to fall would strengthen it once more. It lifted its snout to the air, teeth wet and gleaming.

Slowly, it lowered itself to the ground, kneeling before it’s king. In the gathering darkness, they all bowed, rising out of the shadows to honor their Lord.

Their passing was as a cold wind. Screams echoed from the hills as the _crytch_ sated themselves. He looked out over the barren landscape, admiring how the early moon cast hard shadows from its place high in the heavens.

That same shadow-spawn approached him, a mean intelligence in its flat eyes. He learned long ago that human soldiers were unreliable, panicky. He only used them when nothing better offered.

“Lord,” the creature growled.

He mounted his sweating horse. It shied from the forms massing around him.

“It’s time.”

 

She dreamed of an endless wood. She stood under the heavy trees, knowing she was lost, but unable to remember what she had been searching for. Whispers distracted her; she couldn’t focus. Calls for help, laughter, singing, crying. All around her, hidden in the mist.

She drew her Sword. She felt threatened here. Something watched her.

“Are you here, Ganon?” she called. “Show yourself.”

The whispers quieted, now watching her, too. Waiting to see what she would do.

She took a step forward. The mist moved without any wind. It shifted, obscuring the obstacles in her path. She tread softly, her boots making no noise against the lank grasses. More trees loomed up in front of her. She stilled, listening. The voices hissed to each other, then resumed their chatter.

She walked for hours, it seemed, calling to the voices pleading for her help. Calling for someone to help _her_ , lost in these evil woods.

No one came.

 

“Your Majesty?”

Zelda shook off her dreams. She sat by the bulkhead, her Sword across her knees. It was Draal.

“Your Majesty, it’s time.”

She nodded and accepted his hand to stand. She stretched, stiff from sleeping in her armor.

It was a few hours after sunset. Even this far south, the air was cool as autumn approached. How long until snow blocked the Ordon passes again? Could Ganon be contained in Druynia until spring? She had not had any visions of him since he destroyed Ordon. Only the woods and the mist.

Was Link’s connection to Ordona fully severed, now? Had She abandoned him after his sacrilege? She had been all too willing to leave him to his fate this spring.

_Now who’s being blasphemous?_

Zelda yanked the buckles tight on her baldric.

The _Zephyr’s_ landing boats were readied. His crew waited with her men in the small craft, the Zora bobbing with the choppy waves. A stiff wind had risen, blowing inland.

“Ma’am?” Draal stopped her from going over the side. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, clearly discomforted.

“What is it?”

“I…I have something I wish to give you. To return to you, actually.” He held out a crudely wrapped package. She took it, turning it over in her hands. It was heavy for its size.

“What is this?”

He dropped his eyes, face obscured in the night. “Your crown.”

The fabric fell away, revealing the metal diadem. Received on her sixteenth birthday, she had thought it ugly and brutish for a princess. No gems adorned it, no flowers or filigree as many of her other royal headwear had. A gift from the Goron-king, it had only sharp points of platinum, like teeth stabbing up above her hair.

“I…uh…thought I would sell it, you know, once the Champion allowed us to return home.” Draal rubbed his cheek, fidgeting as she stared down at the treasure.

“Convicted for thievery?” she guessed, not sure whether to laugh or have him scourged.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Any other irreplaceable artifacts hidden about your person?”

“No, ma’am. Not anymore.”

It felt good to laugh. “Thank you, Draal. I appreciate your…honesty.”

He laughed, too. “You can use it finance this war.”

“No.” She settled it over her braids, frizzy with saltwater. It was as cumbersome as she remembered, forced to wear it the entire time Baeark had remained in Hyrule. Luckily, he found both their climate and cuisine unpalatable and soon returned to the reaches of Eldin.

But, her Sword had once felt impossible to wield. Her armor no longer dragged on her shoulders. She set her shoulders. This small weight was nothing to her, not any more.

 

She had been practicing and could now swim for six minutes in full kit. Long enough to slip over the side of the boat and wade quietly onto shore. The crash of the waves against the rocks masked the sound of their landing. Her thirty soldiers and forty of Pacquin’s crew crouched in the lee of the port walls.

Pacquin, moving stealthily for a creature so large, came up next to her. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

His sailors climbed the stone wall as easily as they did the rigging of their ship. Before long, ropes fell. She looped the rough line around her waist and leg and set about scaling the edifice. Her arms were hot and shaking by the time she pulled herself over the battlements. Cursing Link and how effortless he made such exertion look, she recovered her breath as they gathered in the back corner of the fortress.

She could see the guard posts lit by torches. She nodded to Sorrint’s murmured question and he and a handful of others crept off to deal with them. Zelda sent a prayer after them and turned to her own task.

The slaves were kept in a different building, surrounded by its own walls and towers. Pacquin had raided here often and those were well manned and fortified. This keep, where the Governor of the Port lived, had never been attacked. As such, their security was sloppy.

The guards were quickly silenced. Draal, with others of his ilk, broke into the main keep, Ordonian soldiers following them into the darkness. Zelda waited in the courtyard, listening to the muffled shouts of surprise and alarm.

Wull was thrown to the ground before her. She touched his cheek with her blade.

“Governor Wull,” she said. “I recall promising to visit you last we met in Castle Town. Is now a convenient time?”

His mouth gaped open and closed like a landed fish. “Your-Your Majesty?” He strained away from the razor’s edge of her weapon.

“Am I, Wull? Am I your queen?”

He wrung his hands, eyes darting to the leering Zora around him, the hard soldiers in strange armor.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Assemble your household. I would speak with them.”

 

The slaves did not cheer at their liberation. Exhausted from the day’s labor, they blinked at Zelda as she helped break the thick bands of iron bent around their ankles. These prevented the weak slaves from swimming to freedom or running with any speed.

Her hands shook as she leveraged the restraints from a young boy. His legs were so thin, she feared she would snap his bones with her bare hands. He took an experimental run, free from the weight for the first time since he could walk. His smile showed gaped teeth, tugging at the scar on his cheek.

Wull huddled on the ground, feeling his bleeding lip. She shook out her fist.

“I will decide your punishment at a later time,” she promised him.

He gulped, a pathetic worm cringing under her glare. “Mercy, Your Majesty. Please, I will serve you well.”

“You will, or your death will _not_ be swift.”

With the garrison under her control, the town surrendered with little resistance. Her Ordonian soldiers made no secret of their origins. And Zelda had no illusions the populace was relieved she was alive.

Sorrint warned her of it. “They will turn on us the moment we leave.”

“I know.” She stood looking over the plantations in the dappled sunshine.

“The slaves are not fit for combat.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Your Majesty!” Draal came running along the narrow reaches. “A group of riders was spotted moving north; likely messengers.”

“Shall I intercept?” Sorrint asked.

“No.” Zelda shaded her eyes, breathing in the rich scent of the farmland, ready for harvest. “Let them raise the alarm. There are those who will come to my aide. And the sooner word reaches Castle Town, the better.”

Sheik was out there, she hoped. He had not sought her out, which meant he either was dead or detained somehow. And Link…she sighed again. She could not feel him. Even in this place, surrounded by the weary anguish of his past.

 _Be strong, Link._ _I am coming for you._

 

Raphio burst into the attic room above Pacquin’s Tavern.

Sheik slid his knives back into their sheaths. “Good Goddess, man, do you have a death wish?”

“Zelda’s alive!”

 

The air carried a hard edge in the mornings now. It settled in Firn’s joints and made them ache. But she rose before the sun, as she had for decades.

She quietly dressed, trying not to disturb the others still sleeping. Her two daughters, their husbands, and her sweet grandchildren, from Ivin, a strapping boy of seventeen, down to baby Elgla, still swaddled, all shared this tent. It kept them warm enough, at least.

Firn slipped out into the pre-dawn. Others were rising, calling soft greeting to each other. The fires had been banked for the night and Firn joined her friends to start the day’s work.

Soon a hot meal of rice and vegetables was ready. She ladled out the meal with a cheery salutation to each who came by her pot. They smiled thanks, but she could see their worry.

Davin and Ordon spoke in low voices.

“ _Crytch,_ twenty miles behind. Tracking us.”

Ordon’s mouth was thin. “We’ll break camp as soon as we can.”

“We should send the women into Hyrule.”

“With no protection?”

“We can only hide for so long. We’re going to run out of food _and_ hills to flee to.”

“We’re already scattered more than I like.”

 Davin rubbed his face, scratching his rough beard. “No word from Zelda?”

Ordon shook his head. Davin grunted and the men moved on.

They had spent three days in this narrow valley. A few hundred of them, crammed into tents and supplementing their provisions with local game. There was no way an entire nation could hide for long. Their trail was too obvious, even split as they were into a half dozen different groups.

Firn packed her family’s kit. Her elder girl, Sabina, called to her boys as they scampered around her legs, whacking each other with sticks. ‘ _Crytch_ and Champion’ was always the boys’ favorite game.

“Dav, Lee! Enough!”

They waited until their elders had passed. There was a crack of switch on skin.

“Hey, no fair! I wasn’t ready!”

Firn usually loved their games. Now, it was too real, too close.

The horses were packed quickly and started on their slow trek through the hills. They had left the main paths. The Gotkasi and other herding families led them through these wild forests.

Though they did not speak of it, Firn could feel the shame they carried. Scouts had stayed after the populace had fled to the mountains. They had seen what Link had done.

Firn wanted to shake them, shout until they heard.

_It wasn’t him! Our Link would never do this!_

She thought all the long day’s trek. The horses went first, then the weaker of the group, the elders, children, pregnant mothers. Men trotted by and returned hours later, running sweep of the area, watching for signs of pursuit and ambush.

It had been many years since she had carried her long knife on patrol. She missed the solitude of it, running the winding trails, alone but for her thoughts and the wilderness.

Now? Now she carried her youngest grandchild, nestled close to her bosom. His pink face was slack with sleep, lulled by the motion of her stride. She kissed his downy head, drinking in his sweetness, the scent of honey and lavender.

One of the Hanchi boys stood at a creek crossing. The water was shallow, but the rocks treacherous. He held her steady as she stepped across. She was certainly not as light on her feet as she had been back then.

“Thank you, dear.”

“My duty, _amona_.”

She smiled at the honorific. No matter her oldest grandchild has his eyes on a pretty little Gotkasi girl, she certainly didn’t feel like an _amona_. Aside from the ache in her knees. And back. And shoulder. And the blurred edges to her vision.

She sighed and stepped stiffly up onto the higher bank. Elgla stirred, dark eyes cracking to see what the fuss was about. He yawned and settled back to sleep.

They made camp in a different valley, this one with a running stream. The advance scouts had cleared spaces for tents. Mothers gave their children much needed baths, scolding when they yelped at the chill water. Firn scrubbed Elgla’s swaddling cloths and laid them to dry by the fire.

She watched as fathers helped daughters to eat dinner and plait hair. As mother and sisters wiped faces and tried to keep rambunctious and bored children busy. Soldiers mended saddles and sorted supplies.

Her heart ached for her people. She felt the hole keenly, the lack now that Ordon was gone. They were considered backward by Hyrule. Coarse rustics, laborers, content with the drudgery of the fields.

What few outsiders understood was the deep connection to the land carried by each Ordonian. Firn could _feel_ the land beneath her. The trees here were friendly, welcoming. They hid the people’s passage.

The damage to their city was a wound that might never heal fully, just as a burn would scar and tighten. It had happened before. A forest fire, an invasion. But not like this, not by one of their own.

Firn lay awake. She missed her husband, dead these five years. He had fallen during an icy winter and damaged something in his mind. The healers did what they could, but he had simply faded. She could marry again. She was not yet sixty winters. But she had loved him dearly and was content with her ever growing family.

Ordon himself paced by. She knew his tread. Her family had been in service to the Lord of Ordon for generations. An honor of the highest order. Sabina had taken over many of the management duties, her sons and daughter readying to take their place.

What if they could not go back? What if they were forced into Hyrule, absorbed as refugees? Their connection with the land broken, their traditional ways mocked and reviled. How could they survive?

Abandoning sleep, Firn went out into the darkness. It was cold. She wrapped herself in her shawl and cloak and walked to the edge of camp.

A sentry challenged her. Once he recognized her, she scolded him in a fierce whisper.

“Why would _crytch_ be _in_ the camp, boy?”

The young man merely shrugged. “The enemy may come from within, _amona_. You must be ever vigilant.”

That sounded something like that fool Lieutenant Eris would say. He was forever spouting off maxims and was fond of words such as _abrogate_ and _incontrovertible_. Link had suffered mightily during his early years.

‘Na- _ahn_ , I can’t understand half he says and t’other half contradicts the first!’ She sat in the darkness, smiling at the memories of her little Link. For a boy with no singing voice, his words were vibrant and bright.

She could see his indignant scowl even now. His face had filled out, his once gaunt features round and pink with health. ‘Say I can skip, please, Firn? I’ll do my lessons, promise! Say I can, _ta_?’

And, like the doting mother she was, she would let him. He’d bunker down in her rooms, sprawled on the rug before the fire, a winter apple in one hand, a book in the other. His lessons lay forgotten under a stool.

When Ordon came looking for the truant, he would dive under the bed and lay silent until Firn had sworn she had not laid eyes on him since breakfast. Sometimes it was true. Many a snowy day he’d come home at dusk, shivering with a grin splitting his cheeks.

And some nights with bruises that healed by morning. It happened more often as he grew taller and stronger. He smiled less, too, and paid more attention to his lessons. Spent more time with Ordon and Davin, Sorrint, Cantor.

She remembered clearly the day he had come home a stranger. She had never asked what had happened to steal the light from his eyes. Never asked what he saw that left him silent and hollow.

He had been limping and trying to hide it. The tight set of his mouth told her enough about the pain. She set out a soothing balm for him and coaxed him to eat a meal. He did, still distant.

She had kissed his head, longing for the days when she could cuddle him into her lap and rock him.

“I love you,” she told him softly.

He smiled, but it had lost something. “I love you, too.”

She wanted to ask but knew he would not tell her. Had that been the start of this sorrow? Should she have asked, demanded he tell her what had dampened his spirit?

_The enemy may come from within._

“Try to sleep, Link _astana.”_ Link, my darling. My dearest, most wonderful boy.

“I will.”

“Good night.”

He was gone again. “Good night, Firn.”

 

Another day of travel, another night of cold. The air had a tart smell, promising snow. They would have to move down into the lowlands. They would need to go into Hyrule.

 _The enemy may come from within_.

She could not shake the phrase loose of her thoughts. It clung to her like old cobwebs, sticky and loathsome.

She trusted her people absolutely. They were too close, too intertwined. When Link had searched the city for a traitor so many months ago, disbelief had been the emotion, not fear. While families may estrange or clans feud, Ordon came first. If Link had found someone, they would not have lived to face mortal judgement.

She did not try to sleep. She sat by the banked embers, wrapped in her cloak.

 _The enemy may come from within_.

Whose enemy? Hers? Her peoples’? They already knew that, to their sorrow. What now? Should they fear even more? Suspect each other? Fall apart when they needed their strength the most?

No. She dismissed the doubt. She would rather die hopeful and forgiving than burdened with mistrust. The fear would destroy them.

But what did it mean?

Ordon also could not sleep. He saw her and joined her on the logs that had been rolled close to the fire.

“I miss him,” he said.

“Me, too.”

The moon was hidden by clouds, the night very dark.

“Do you think he remembers us? His life with us?”

Firn sighed. “Yes.” It brought her no comfort. She knew Ganon would use Link’s profound caring for his people to hurt him anyway he could. Why else burn the city? It served no purpose other than to wound the young man’s soul.

 _The Enemy may come from within_.

Had he been Ganon all along? Was Link even real?

She refused to believe the boy she loved as her own child was the same monster who would destroy their world. She had seen his soul, felt his spirit. Her power may be weak compared to some, but she trusted it. It had saved her life many times, before she was _amona_ , before she and her husband had conceived their first child, when they still manned the Watch, even venturing beyond into Hyrule.

Ordon bid her a good sleep and walked slowly to his own tent. She missed Gregin most at times like these, when Ordon needed the cheerful pragmatism of the soldier.

Gregin had had the easiest temper, always looking for the good in any situation. Presented with bleak facts and scarce supplies, he would find a way to salvage what he could.

What did she have to offer? She was old. While her knife was keen, her eyesight wasn’t. Sitting on this log accentuated all the pain and stiffness in her body.

The only strengths she had were her love of her people and her stubbornness. Ordon called it ‘audacity,’ sometimes ‘managing.’ Her husband declared her a ‘damned interfering shrew’ on more than one occasion.

She couldn’t help it. When she could see what had to be done, what _must_ be done! Like the lovely young queen. What a bride she would have been! She had known the moment the girl had arrived that none other would be worthy of her darling. A pity they had had to flee before they could really get to know each other.

But then she returned and was so deeply in love with him! Firn had begun to hope again, despite Zelda’s certainty that he was lost to them. If love could not save him, what could?

What could? What could she do?

_The enemy may come from within._

A plan, a dangerous plan, but what she must do. She, the audacious, interfering old woman she was.

She slipped into her family’s tent. She daren’t even kiss the children good-bye lest they wake and start questioning. She rolled her bedding into a bundle and left them. There was no way to leave a note; paper was too heavy to carry. She took a cold cinder and wrote on the tent wall.

Some provisions, a bow and half a dozen arrows. A water skin and a flint box.

Her power was weak, but she had trained long years to hone her craft. The sentries by the horses stared vacantly as she saddled a sturdy mare.

It was weary, but well trained. She led it into the darkness. Once outside of the sentries’ patrol, she stilled and listened.

The answer was faint, but true. She turned toward east and set off into the night.

 

Misly was enduring a recitation of Trevil’s latest racing wins when a servant rushed into the room. He bent over the elder Trevil’s shoulder and hissed in his ear. The man’s face went pale, then red. He stood abruptly.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Urgent business.”

“Fourteen hands, a little shorter in the stride than I’d like, but displays well.”  Trevil took a breath and Misly jumped into the gap.

“ _So_ interesting,” she gushed. “But if you’ll excuse me, my lord. I need to…” She winked and giggled. He grunted, going a little pink himself. For an avid sportsman, he really was quite squeamish, she was discovering.

Which way did Lord Trevil go? The amulet stayed cold for the younger man. Only when Lord Trevil had lounged in to meet his son’s ‘sweetie’ had the small totem reacted. What news had he received?

Misly chose a direction at random and walked quickly as she dared. She came to another intersection with no sign of Trevil. Frustrated, she scowled at the statuette set into an alcove in front of her. Hylia sat on a throne, scepter grasped in one delicate marble hand. The orb of the scepter was a ruby, a real one, she thought, that glowed as the goddess pointed it to the left hallway.

Misly blinked. Hylia stared back with blank eyes. Misly dipped the smallest curtsy and hurried down the corridor, feeling Her stone gaze on her back.

The totem warmed, then cooled. She backtracked and slipped down the narrower passage. She was wearing the green silk gown and it rustled luxuriously. She tried to hold it still.

Men’s voices rumbled. These were offices used by magistrates and various ministers and their clerks. It was quiet this afternoon, a rest day for most of the government staff.

Misly slowed and listened, holding the searing amulet off her chest.

“…Port Rhundian…pirates…”

She could not hear enough. Whose office was this? She read the plaque on the door. Minister Unon. Misly thought he might have something to do with the army but wasn’t sure. Berating herself for her lack of attention in her Civics lessons, she tried to hear more.

“…you come to me like this? You’ll get us killed!”

The voices were easier to hear because they were moving to the door. Misly sprinted for the closest open door and slipped through as Trevil stormed out.

“I will see you tonight,” Unon said. “Thank you, Trevil.”

Lord Trevil was red under his thinning hair. He stormed away. Misly stayed where she was for long minutes. She crept out and hurried in his wake.

Trevil was back in the salon when she entered.

“Where’d you run off to, my girl?” His interest was too keen for her comfort. He suspected her, she was sure. She fluttered her eyelashes and smiled her most simpering smile.

“Had to powder my nose,” she drawled with a toss of her curls. They conversed for another half hour, then Misly took her leave.

“Need to dress for dinner,” she explained.

The younger Trevil held her hand fast when she tried to withdraw it.

“You’ll ride with me tomorrow, won’t you Misly?”

She agreed, even as she wondered at his almost desperate tone. How sternly was his father forcing this match? And what punishments would befall if he did not keep her close?  Poor boy.

She drew up in the middle of her suite. Trevil was easily ten years older than she was. Despite this, there was something…immature about him. Unfinished.

It was a strange feeling. She was told everyday how flighty she was, how silly and shallow. Her own sisters thought it, accepting that Misly’s deepest thoughts concerned her hair and her latest flirt. Her parents clearly believed it.

‘Don’t try to act intelligent,’ she had been told. ‘You’ll only look more a fool.’

It hurt because it was true. She wasn’t smart. She did enjoy stupid romance novels and flirting and new dresses. She had never felt ashamed of it until now.

But, Tulin had come to _her_. She had figured out his clue and joined this counter-conspiracy. She had discovered some of its members. She wasn’t useless.

And she chased boys because it was a game. One she didn’t want to win, had no intention of winning or being won. She knew every eligible man in the palace, whether her parents thought they were or not. None of had them sparked the slightest interest beyond a casual flirtation.

An irony, that she, Hyrule’s biggest flirt, might end up an old maid.

She laughed to herself as she wrote Tulin a coded report of her discovery.


	11. Rise of the Hero

**Chapter Eleven: Rise of the Hero**

Her army was several hundred strong. Slaves who refused to be left behind, citizens taking up arms. Some of the soldiers, detained at first but then given their spears after an oath of service.

Unfortunately, they were anticipated now. Plantations were abandoned and fortifications strengthened against them. Pacquin’s ships, a tiny armada of shore craft, struck along the coast, splitting the slavers forces between them.

Every chain she broke, every barrack she burned made her more ashamed. She should have done this the first year of her reign.

She was a coward and these half-starved ‘indentures’ proved it. She hadn’t wanted to upset her magistrates, hadn’t wanted to be too aggressive so early in her reign. Had not wanted to admit her father was wrong.

How many children had died in the five years since her coronation? How many families split apart?

And what had she gained?  Nothing. They had plotted to remove her, _murder_ her in her sleep and she had nothing to show for it.

“Hey, hey!” Sorrint grabbed her arm, dragging her Sword down. “They surrendered. Enough.”

She shook him off. “You dare preach mercy to _me_ , Lieutenant?”

The enemy soldiers dropped their weapons, scrambling back from her fury. Her own soldiers surrounded her, protecting her in name but really a kennel.

Sorrint did not back down. “Zelda, enough.”

_Enough, Champion._

He hated that phrase, stopping him from satisfying the hunger he carried, stopping him from testing how strong he really was. There was so much more, just beyond reach.

“Zelda.”

She pushed away his memories. They left a cold knot in her stomach. Anger and self-loathing, that impatience that kept her awake, would not let her rest.

Sorrint gripped her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

She almost laughed but thought she might vomit instead.

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe her. But he led her from the battlefield, a ruined crop of pumpkins. The slaves were freed, the soldiers detained. The citizens informed of their choice: support the queen and her law or be hanged for slavery and treason.

She washed in cold water. The room was the nicest in the small town’s inn, but still barely large enough for the bed and washstand.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She did not recognize herself, again. She was thinner, browned. A half-healed slice along her cheek bone. Her hair was matted into its braids.

Where was the satisfaction she expected to feel? She was doing what needed to be done, what _he_ had wanted to do for so long. Belated, but she was doing her best.

She leaned over the basin, the water dripping from her jaw. Still that icy lump in her chest. Misery. His or hers? She couldn’t tell any more, his memories as real and vibrant as her own.

She could not celebrate with Pacquin and his crew. The newly freed slaves prepared a simple feast. They danced and sang, rejoicing in their liberation.

Where was her joy in their happiness?

 

The first towns fell easily. No one escaped, so no warning was raised. The _crytch_ rolled over the hamlets, burning the homes, spoiling the crops newly harvested.

He followed at leisurely pace. Why should he rush? This victory was centuries in the planning. He wanted to relish it.

The Shadow followed him, settling over the land he conquered. The Watch would spread and infect the rich soul here. Soon all Hyrule would lay wasted and diseased.

And his beasts needed rest. They lay sprawled on the ground, half-eaten cattle left to be picked over by carrion feeders. He strode through the squabbling throng, admiring their handiwork.

He drew up. A figure sat by the well in the center of town. It waited for him. He could feel it watching him.

He held the Shadow Blade ready. It fought him, just as the boy did. He should destroy it completely, but he enjoyed forcing it to his will.

It was a woman. His memories stirred, trying to place her face. She saw him and stood, brushing the dirt from her cloak.

“Hello, _astana_.”

How had she come here? The moblins did not react to her presence as she approached him.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

She drew off her hood. An old woman, slender, but bent. She smiled tenderly. “Let me look at you.”

He leaned away from her outstretched hand. “What do you want, witch?”

Her lips pursed in disapproval. “I taught you better manners, young man.”

The ache in his throat must be the boy’s. He sneered at her. “I see now. Come to give him strength?”

“No. To give him this.”

Her hand thrust forward. He caught her wrist, Blade raised to strike. Light flared in her palm. It stabbed through his chest. He staggered back, breathless from the pain of it.

It faded as quickly as it came. He straightened, snarling forgotten curses.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Mind your language, Link.”

A gust of wind and she was gone. He bellowed at his horde, kicking them awake.

“Search the village! Kill her!”

They bumbled through the ruined buildings, sniffing the ground and thrashing about uselessly.

She had vanished the same she had come, with no trace of her passing.

“You think this will help him?” he shouted to the night sky. “You think he can stop me? You know nothing, old woman! Cretins! Worms! I will slaughter your children and drown you in their blood!”

 

Firn huddled under a hedge. She could still hear him raging, even this far away. She gasped for breath against the stitch in her side. Her limbs trembled from the exertion of her run. Even with the wind to aide her, she had over-extended herself.

She stood painfully. She had over-extended in other ways, too. The faint power she could access was gone, burned into a husk. Forever, most likely.

It had been worth it to see him again. So changed but so much the same. His eyes, his chin. Even the way he spoke, though she doubted Ganon would admit to himself how tenuous his hold on Link was. He thought Link weak. Link had never been weak. She knew that better than anyone; she had shared his nightmares, knew what terrors he lived in his dreams, only to wake and find them leering down at him.

She looked over the plain, at the fires scattered across the destroyed village.

“I did what I could for you, my dearest. Fight him, Link. Come back to us.”

She turned back to the hills. Her daughters were going to be furious.

 

Zelda stumbled and fell. She pushed from the damp forest floor. The ground clutched at her, trying to pull her down again. She dragged herself up and resumed her trek.

How long had she been here? Her body trembled with fatigue. She pushed past the grasping branches. She _had_ to keep moving forward. But to where?

The whispers mocked her, now.

 _Little queen,_ they hissed. _Weak, useless_.

Were they her thoughts or the others in the mist?

_You think you can stand against him. You think **you** could be the Hero?_

She didn’t want to be the Hero. _He_ was the Hero, she _needed_ him to be the Hero.

He didn’t want it, either. The weight of it crushed him.  But what choice did he have? He had never been given a choice at all.

She fell again and lay panting on the ground. It took all her strength to roll over. She stared up into the blackness beyond the mists. She could not carry on, not matter how desperately he needed her. She had failed him yet again.

The ground was cold. It seeped into her body, numbing her. A relief, even as it burned. A relief to not feel anymore, to dull the anger and frustration she dragged behind her.

She closed her eyes. How long until she was one of them? Another voice in the mist, lost in this nothingness.

“Found you!”

The voice grated on her ears. She grimaced, the fiery numbness retreating. A bright light stabbed through the darkness, warming her.

“Come on, fair and square!”

A young girl stood over her. She grinned, a lower tooth missing. “Your turn!”

She scampered away. The brilliant red of her dress flickered between the slimy trees. “Come and catch me!”

“Wait!” Zelda dragged herself over. “Wait, it’s not safe!”

The girl’s laughter echoed, cascading until it was cacophonous. Zelda gritted her teeth, muscles burning as she forced herself to her feet. “Come back!”

The laughter cut off in a scream. Zelda ran as fast as she could, the branches scratching at her clothes and hair.

She staggered into a clearing. The girl huddled on the ground, the beast crouching over her.

Zelda grabbed the closest weapon, anything. A heavy branch broke over the beast’s head. It snarled at her, attention drawn from the terrified girl.

Zelda crouched, snarling herself. She had nothing but her slim dagger, barely longer than her hand. A toy, a child’s weapon.

The beast roared challenge. She stood firm as it charged, knowing she would die with it. A sacrifice she would gladly make.

Claws racked her chest as she slammed the knife into its glaring eye. Blood poured over her hands while she forced the weapon deeper into its skull. It rolled over her, ripping the knife from her grip as they tumbled, a mass of fur and teeth and death.

A suffocating weight, the stink of it coating her throat.

The sharp points in her side receded as the beast relaxed. Its fangs scraped her face, frozen in a gaping maw of hatred.

The girl was still there, sobbing hysterically as she tried to free her. Shouts approached, people calling her name. She managed to wriggle free. She gasped for air. Her hand came away from her side slick with blood. Her blood.

The girl clutched her tightly, but she didn’t mind the pain. They were alive to feel it.

“Thank you,” the girl whispered. “Oh, thank you, Link.”

 

She gasped awake, hands going to her ribs. The pain was fading. No wounds under her fingers, no blood.

She was in a bed. She stared at the unfamiliar room.

A knock at the door. “Your Majesty?”

Dresa Port.

Her own memories rushed back, filling the void. She was Zelda, queen of Hyrule. She had taken Dresa two days past, her growing army of freed slaves and citizens sweeping over a Sigla stronghold.

“Ma’am, I heard you call out. Are you well?”

That was Sorrint. Dear, kind, loyal Sorrint. Who had taught him to ride and how to make tiny paper boats and snuck him treats when Firn banished him to his room with no supper.

“Zelda, answer me!”

“I’m fine,” she croaked. Her voice was still rough from shouting orders during the battle.

“Open the door!”

She dragged her clothes on. Sorrint shoved her out of the way after she unlocked the catch. He did a quick sweep of the small chamber. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Dream.” But was it? He scowled at her and sudden tears dripped down her cheeks. His baffled look brought a gurgle of laughter to her lips, even as she hiccupped.

“Why are you-?”

He grunted as she hugged him.

“Zelda?”

“He just loves you so much, Sorrint.”

He was still confused and now concerned. “What are you talking about?”

“Link. He…you are what he dreamed a brother would be.”

Sorrint stood still a moment, then held her tightly.

 _Feel this_ , she urged Link. _Remember how much he cares for you. How much they all love you._

Sorrint pushed her to arm’s length. “What did you see?”

She couldn’t explain. It wasn’t the memory itself, but the purpose in his heart. The need to protect, to defend. Even before he was the Champion.

“He was so good,” she said, unable to articulate her feelings more eloquently. “He was _good_ , even carrying such a burden. The Power in him was pure. If we can free him from Ganon!”

Sorrint gave her a gentle shake. “We will. Or I will die trying.”

“I love him, Sorrint.” She had forgotten. Maybe on purpose. It had hurt too much.

“I know.” He half-smiled at her. “And I’d never seen him so flustered.”

Flustered? The stoic Champion of Ordona? The man always in control, cool and calm in the direst situation? She found she craved this small vanity. “Really?”

Sorrint chuckled, aware of her intentions. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She thought over those short days. Before she had known his true character or seen his grin of mischievous pride. Before he started trying to make her laugh in spite of herself. Did he really feel the same? Had she imagined that certain warmth in his eyes?

“I thought he hated me.”

“Oh, he did. He ruined four of our practice dummies. Hacked them to pieces.”

That memory was there, now, too. The sun was just rising, but he was already drenched with sweat. The wooden mannequins lay in pieces at his feet. He swore at them, venting a formless frustration on the mute enemy. Aware of his Lieutenant’s amusement at his outburst.

She blushed as she smiled. “Did you tell him to stop being such a brat?”

“And have _my_ head loped off?”

It felt so good to laugh. “What time is it?”

“Nearly noon, Your Majesty. You needed the rest.”

She agreed, though they also needed to keep moving. “Are we ready to move on?”

“As soon as you’re ready, ma’am.”

She stopped him. “Tell me, did he play in the forest outside the city?”

Sorrint nodded. “He would skip lessons all the time. Enon unfortunately takes after him in that regard. Nearly got himself killed a couple times, too.”

Not a dream, then. Where had these memories come from? Could he see them? Remember who he really was?

Her army waited, ready to march on the next fortification. She wept again, blaming it on the wind gusting from the sea. Those left behind cheered and waved, shouting their joy to the heavens.

Sorrint rode next to her.

“It will be alright,” he told her, reaching to grip her arm. “Everything will be alright.”

It would. No matter how this ended, she trusted that everything would be as it should. She had her strength. She had her Sword. His memories to guide her.

She had hope.

 

It was a larger town. A garrison put up a stiff resistance. They fell, of course, but slaughtered a fair number of shadow spawn as they did. No matter. The Shadow was endless, infinite, eternal.

He stood on a rise and watched the people flee. Their wails of sorrow and terror drifted up to the smoky sky. Unfortunately, none had recognized this body.

He would enjoy the shock and betrayal, the hopelessness as they realized their supposed Hero was a monster.

His horde picked over the remains, rooting through homes. He lounged at the foot of the broken statue of Hylia. Her stern face glared at him, half buried in the mud.

He saluted her. “Hail Hylia.”

Her rage was impotent. _He **will** stop you_.

“Why do you still resist? Accept that I am your king.”

_You are as fleeting as the rest of humanity, Ganon._

His reply was cut off by screams. The bokoblins hooted with savage glee, dragging a woman and a child from the ruins. The woman cowered on the ground, shrieking, pleading for mercy from creatures that knew only hunger and hate.

The child clutched at its mother skirts. The woman saw their death and wrapped her arms around the child, barely out of infancy, hiding its face from their final moments of horror. Fleeting indeed, barely alive at all and already returning to their goddess.

A crude sword rose, crimsoned and thirsty.

“Mama!”

“Hush, darling.” Broken with sobs. “Mama loves you!”

The bokoblin stared down at the steel piercing it’s chest. He pulled it free with a wet, grating sound. The beast collapsed back.

His hand burned where it touched the sullied Sword. He had to drop it, unable to hold the searing hilt. It lay on the ground, flat and dull.

He stared at his reflection in it. His features were blurred, murky. But his eyes shone golden, slicing through the shadows within.

 _The Hero will end you_.

“No!”

The boy’s spirit rose up defiant, pushing against his bonds.

“ _No!”_

The afternoon wavered. He staggered to his feet, screaming.

“Destroy it! Destroy it now!”

His beasts panicked, demolishing everything. Fire damaged timbers crashed to the ground. Masonry crumbled. The remnants of the statue to Hylia were crushed into rubble.

She laughed at him. They all laughed at him.

“I control the Triforce! _I_ control the prophecy. _There is no Hero!”_

Everything was fading, the buildings, the fields. He clutched at reality, as flimsy as gauze.

 

She shrieked with glee, tossed high into the air.

“Again, papa! Again!”

The man laughed, his crown held securely by his retainer as he played with his tiny daughter. The sun shone brightly and everything was golden and perfect. She was too young to realize it could never last.

 

The air snapped with cold. She rode by, only a little frightened by the animal’s frisks.

“She has a good hand, a light seat. She’ll ride well to hunt,” the trainer said to Sheik. “A pity she’s not a boy.”

 _Not a boy, not a boy_. The phrase wormed its way into her heart, planting the seed of doubt, of rot and self-loathing.

 

She waited behind a curtain, a tall woman at her side. The woman listened for a moment, then turned to the young princess.

“Only a few minutes, my dear. She is very weak today.”

Zelda nodded and slipped into the dim room. A shell of a woman lay in the bed. She saw the girl and smiled, thin hand outstretched.

“My dearest girl.”

“Mama!” Zelda ran to the bed, ribbons fluttering. She could see how much thinner she was, no healer able to find a cure, only palliation.

 

She lay hidden under her bed, as still as possible until they gave up and searched elsewhere.

“Where is the dratted child!”

“Someone _must_ talk to the king about the girl. Maybe he can talk some sense into her.”

Their voices faded away. A strong hand gripped her leg and dragged her out into the open.

Sheik looked down at her with a raised brow. “Under the bed? Really? Have I taught you nothing?”

“They caught me unawares,” she said hotly. “I had to improvise!”

“Lord Gyr will be offended.”

“Gyr is a lecherous toady! And his son, too!”

Sheik swatted her bottom. “For your cowardice. If you despise him, act like a princess and send him on his way. Do not hide in your room like a child.”

But she _was_ a child, still. Dimly aware of how her future was being bartered, men trading commodities and power for her body and the crown it would carry. It frightened her, even while she didn’t fully understand it.

 

Endless rain, as if the sky was mourning the death of the queen. She lay cold and still in the bed, no matter how many times Zelda pleaded for her to wake up, wake up just once more, to hear her voice just one last time.

 

“Come now, my sweet,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.” His hard eyes clashed with his honeyed words. “Your father gave his-”

He jerked back, her dagger dragging blood up his cheek.

“Touch me again and I will kill you,” she promised. The man snarled and left, cloak swirling. She pressed her hand to her mouth, nauseated. But proud; she was not a child any longer. She would decide her future herself.

 

Her people cheered for her. She was not a man, yes, but a queen. She would rule alone until she found a man worthy of her. If the Goddess could, then so could she. She took the Lady’s name on her coronation day. Her Grace, Queen Zelda Lyari Faroen Hyrule.

 

Could he see her blush? Feel the frisson that ran over her whole body when he smiled that certain way. She drew her sash tight around her waist, as if the flimsy organza of her wrap would shield her from his presence.

She tried to put up walls, but he scaled them as easily as her real ones. _When I refuse your hand_. If he only knew how she longed to offer it, yet feared his answer, feared to lose one of the few people she felt she could trust absolutely.

 

His blood stained her dress. He would not wake up, just as her mother hadn’t, just as her father couldn’t from his rambling daytime dreams.

She had failed him. He had trusted her, had needed her help to save his people. Had done so much for hers, quietly and without expectation of thanks.

She tried to tap into the power she carried. It would not respond to her pleas. As useless to her as she was to him. The cart jerked over the rutted road and he grimaced. She soothed him, tears falling from her face to his. She wiped them away, leaving bloody smears on his skin.

 

She stood in a doorway, looking out over a city. A row of gallows was visible in the central plaza. No bodies hung there, but the air still carried the feel of death.

She sighed and turned. She drew back, surprise washing over her face before a smile lit it with golden light.

“Link!”

She rushed to him. Checked herself. Reached out with tentative fingers and brushed his cheek.

“Is it you?”

 _Yes_! he wanted to shout. _I’m here!_

 _His_ voice stabbed at her. “You found an army, little queen. Are you prepared to watch their deaths?”

She drew back. A storm gathered in her eyes. They searched his face. “Link, speak to me.”

“Your Hero is gone.”

_No! Zelda, please!_

She touched him again. He could just feel the calloused tips of her fingers, muted by the cage around him. There was nothing dull about the lust her touch aroused. He retched, sickened by it.

“Have you changed your mind, my dear? I recall you refused last I offered. Shall we end this pointless war?”

“Link is the only man I will marry.”

He gripped her arms, pulling her closer. She let him, though he begged her to stop him.

“You can have him,” Ganon told her. “I’d let him loose whenever you wished. We’d _both_ enjoy it, the mighty Hero as your plaything.”

She laughed, a rich, deep laugh that clenched his heart.

“You’re wrong,” she murmured. Her lips brushed his neck.

“About what?” he asked. Breathless; not all this want was his own. She was perfect. A queen, a goddess who walked with men.

“Link isn’t the Hero.” The cage pressed closer, crushing him and his nothingness. “I am.”

 

He staggered back into the chill afternoon. He gripped the hilt of the knife and wrenched it free. Blood welled up from the wound in his side. The shadow beasts were still bleating, overturning every cart and crate.

He stared at the blood coating his fingers. She had moved so swiftly, caught him in a moment of weakness.

The boy’s spirit burned, furious and deadly. He tried it smother it, fed it its own hate and pain. It consumed them like dross.

“I will not kill her,” he promised him. “Her bloodline is pure, worthy to bear my sons.”

There was little humanity left of the snarling thing inside him. He mocked it, mocked her declaration, mocked the boy’s love, devolved into bestial want.

 _She_ the Hero? From whose soul he had ripped Wisdom as easily as he had broken the boy? He laughed, even as blood dried on his chest.

They were _nothing_. It was time to show them what true power was.

 

Trevil was actually a nice man. Boring, but nice. He didn’t try to paw her or drag her into dark corners. In fact, he seemed quite determined to not touch her at all.

His father…Misly had to still her shivers when his eyes fell on her. They were matte, almost. Empty. She couldn’t meet them for long, tossing her hair or looking down demurely to break their dead stare.

She was invited into the family’s suite. Several times larger than her parents’ and filled with the finest furniture and art. If she wasn’t at risk of being murdered, she might have agreed to this marriage.

Lady Trevil, a brisk woman with a short temper, raised her eyebrows at Misly admiration of their library.

“My husband collects books.” She seemed perplexed by it.

Misly longed to touch the bindings, arranged by author and date. _The Novus Codices,_ a first edition of _Milla._ An original copy of the _Eratus_.

She jumped when Lord Trevil spoke behind her.

“Go ahead, my dear,” he said.

She tentatively drew out a slim volume, bound in vellum and fragile. It was the Poems by Idomadus, written over three hundred years before. There were only seventeen known originals.

“Second edition,” he explained sorrowfully. “A true first came up at auction last year, but Velca snatched it up for an exorbitant amount. I still have children to feed!”

His laugh was a flat as his eyes. She hastily opened it and read.

 

_Love oh Love, the breeze that never seize,_

_That glow that obscure even the tiny creatures,_

_Now I know why my heart double beat,_

_For love is in and within._

_Deceit oh Deceit, the fire without fire,_

_That failed promise that turns everyone blind,_

_Now I know why my heart double beat,_

_For deceit is in and within._

 

Trevil stepped closer. “My son tells me you are a quite the well-read young woman.”

She shrugged, returning the book to its place. “I like to read.”

“So does my wife. Trash, all of it. You spoke of the _Artasios_ last night at dinner. Ramon’s masterpiece, don’t you think?”

Was this some sort of trick? “It is an ambitious epic. But I prefer his _Stories of Yaernos_.”

“Why is that, my dear?”

Misly laughed as falsely as he did. “More women. I find a sad lack of realistic female characterizations in most of Ramon’s work.”

“You so not identify with the lovely, stricken damsel? No swooning for you, my dear?”

Han would dump cold water on her if she tried to have an artistic fit. “Not really. A bore, I know. No swain will want to rescue me.”

“Surely you don’t expect to find yourself in need of saving. Why, what evil could befall you in the safety of the king’s palace?”

His eyes _were_ dead. They did not reflect the light of the lamps. He was too close.

“Most likely, my mother’s scold for being late to supper.” She dipped a curtsy and slipped around him. “You have a lovely library, sir.  Thank you.”

“Come read here anytime you wish.”

“You are too kind.” She hurried out, unable to catch her breath.

She huddled in the safety of her rooms, chilled through.

 

The conspirators had grown wary. The rash of ‘accidents’ had come to an end, leaving the city puzzling over the unusual number of deaths and giving increased offerings to Hylia and Faroe, Goddess of death and chance.

Sheik was hampered by the lack of information. Rumors of a rebellion in the south had drawn little attention. The city was focused on the king.

There was no more hiding that he was not in his right mind. The conspirators had trotted him out too often, displayed him like a dog before the court. Too many people could see that his ailment was not the result of poison, but organic and incurable.

Whispers started. Had Zelda been wrongfully executed? Who would take control now? Was this a disease or magic? If it was, how would they defend themselves?

Normally he would encourage such unease. Now, this belated instability gave the conspirators power. They were strong, calm. The people looked to them for guidance.

Raphio reluctantly left for the Sheik’ah stronghold.

“I fear civil violence,” Sheik told him. “And I do not know whom the military will support.”

It would take him three days to travel to the hidden city in the Faron Woods. And other five to return with a contingent of Sheik’ah warriors. Sheik shook his hand and sent him on his way.

He was summoned to Pacquin’s in the middle of the night. He emerged from the attic to find Madame Pacquin pacing in the front room.

“There you are! Have you heard the news? The queen has been sighted. Alive!”

He had been guilty about keeping that to himself. Madame Pacquin turned to young Zora sitting behind her.

“Swam up the Menoat,” it -she? - explained. “Pacquin has joined with the queen and some Ordonian soldiers. They’ve taken a large portion of Tatola. Freeing slaves. When I left them, they had eight hundred strong.”

Nothing to the city militia, but not something to be ignored.

“A message, from the queen,” she continued. “Looking for a man, Sheik.”

“I am he.”

“They are marching for the city. They will take control of every garrison they pass. She hopes to have two thousand men by the time she reaches Fort Hateno. She aims to be in the city in eight days.”

He knew a large number of the soldiers in and around the city would support her. That left the magistrates’ private guards. The populace? Not all would be pleased at her resurrection and few men would want to fight their own people, even under oath of service.

“Are you able to return to her?” he asked. The Zora woman stood.

“Of course. What message?”

“Tell her the city is divided. Trevil and Jharen control the court. I have summoned help from my people, but they are a week away.”

The Zora repeated the message and turned to go.

“Wait. Is Link with you?”

She shook her head. “He wasn’t with the other Ordonians.” She took her leave of Madame Pacquin and slipped out.

“Can we trust her?”

Madame Pacquin nodded. “My husband’s kin. Fastest swimmer of the bunch.”

Sheik gripped her arm. “Hold on, your husband is a _Zora_?”

She stood hands on hips. “He is. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, just…” He shook his head. “Never mind. Why isn’t Link with them?”

Worry creased her forehead. “That troubles me as well. Perhaps he is gathering support somewhere else.”

Sheik did not think the Champion would pass up the opportunity to legally execute every slaver he could find. If Zelda had convinced him to go elsewhere, she had more control over the boy than he thought possible.

Sheik grimaced. He didn’t like that, though having such a weapon was useful. Link would grow resentful of his leash. Their relationship had to be equal, her authority balancing his autonomy.

But that was a problem for another day. Now, he needed to prepare the city for her return.

 

Misly’s parents held whispered conversations when they thought her lost in a book. Han noticed as well.

“What is the matter?” she asked. “Why are they so anxious?”

Misly yawned. “Are they? Probably something up before the courts.”

Han frowned at them and their sharp gestures. “Maybe.”

“…leave the city…” her father urged.

“But, Misly _cannot_ leave now. Trevil will be offended!”

“It is dangerous.”

Han’s interest was too keen for Misly’s comfort. She put down her book and spoke up anxiously. “Go home, father? Now?”

He scowled at their eavesdropping but replied. “We have stayed long enough,” he said with a pointed look to his wife. “The harvest needs to be finalized, the land readied for winter.”

“But, father, what about Trevil?”

Han was her normal beastly self. “Really, Misly. You are the most selfish brat in the world!”

“I am not!”

“I hate it here,” Han declared. “I want to go home. Can we, papa? Please?”

Han was their father’s favorite; they all knew it. He wavered.

Their mother was adamant. “Misly _must_ secure Trevil. How can she do that from Brynn?”

“Leave me here,” Misly suggested. That drew both their glowers. She smiled her banal smile. “Why make such a fuss? I’ll stay and you all can go home.”

She knew perfectly why her father did not want her in the palace unsupervised. “Out of the question.”

Han made a disgusted noise. “I am so tired of everything being about Misly!”

“Now, Han,” her mother began.

“When Misly gets married. We can’t until Misly’s dowry is paid, Misly needs new clothes, Misly needs, Misly, Misly.”

“You know she must make a good-”

“No one wants to marry a slut!”

Han clapped her hands over her mouth the sudden silence. Misly turned to look at her, unsure whether to make a scene or laugh. Han stared back, horror in her white face.

Her father recovered first. “Apologize, Han.”

Her sister’s tears were more than enough. “Misly, I-I didn’t mean…”

She went to the still slim girl and hugged her tightly.

“Forget it, little one,” she whispered. “Please, I am not mad at you. I love you so dearly.”

Han fled the room. Misly straightened with a tinkling laugh. “Poor dear. I remember being that age. So awkward.” As of it hadn’t been just four years ago.  So much changed so quickly. Where had her childhood gone? She turned to her still appalled parents.

“Please, father, mother. Return home. I will stay. You know I would never do anything to harm our family’s future.”

“But you cannot be here _alone_.”

“I will ask Lady Trevil if I may stay with them. We are betrothed, after all. Surely, they will understand the needs of our village at this time. They have several plantations themselves.”

Her mother cast about for more excuses. Misly deflected them calmly. Her father watched her with narrowed eyes.

He came to her that night as she read before bed.

“I think this betrothal has done you good,” he said awkwardly. She rarely gave him cause to compliment her behavior. “You were very patient with your sister. Thank you.”

Misly shrugged. “She is young, still.”

“Even so,” he said. “Thank you. I…” He searched for words. “I am sorry.”

“What for, father?”

He fidgeted with his jacket buttons. “If you do not want this marriage, please, tell me. I would not see you unhappy.”

“Unhappy? How could I be unhappy? Have you seen Trevil’s library?”

He smiled. “You know what I mean. Please, tell me if you…”

She rose and kissed his cheek. “Of course, papa.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

 

Lord Trevil was enthusiastic about the arrangement.

“Are we not almost family?” he crowed, slapping Misly’s father on the shoulder. “We’d be glad to have the silly chit. She adds a much-needed gaiety to our table, don’t you my dear?”

Misly fluttered her eyelashes, her arm looped through his. “Papa knows I am only after your books.”

“Hah! Did you know, Terpandra, she can recite the _Furon_ from memory? Who knew she had such brains under all that hair?” He pinched her chin, eyes flat and evil. “What other secrets are you hiding, I wonder?”

She laughed and slipped away to hang on his son’s arm. He smiled at her with such genuine relief she felt a despicable cad as she steered him for the corridor.

“It’s stuffy in here, don’t you think, Trevil? Let’s walk through the gallery.”

 

Sheik did not hide approval of Misly’s cunning. She blushed as he praised her.

“I saw the opportunity,” she said meekly. He stood in her tiny room, dressed in her family’s livery.

“However,” he tempered. “This puts you in extreme danger. Trevil is a key member.”

She nodded. “His eyes,” she said vaguely.

“Have you found anything?”

She shook her head. “His study is always locked. And he suspects me.” She twisted the edge of her shawl into a screw of fabric. “I think he knows I know.”

“Are you armed?” She showed him a stiletto in her skirts, another in her bodice. “Be vigilant. The queen is coming.”

Misly’s eyes glowed. “Zelda’s alive? Oh, Sheik, how wonderful.” She checked. “Then Bustine must know. He has been flattering Captain Kyln, Bafaen, Hendro, others.”

Sheik grimaced. “Splitting the court. I expected as much.”

“But, won’t most support the queen?”

He looked down on this still young woman. She really was a beauty, not as stupid as she appeared, just inexperienced. Naïve. “I pray so, but do not expect it.”

“What do I do if Trevil defects?”

“Run. Hide. Fight.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

 

“Ordon! Come quickly!”

The scout stood on a narrow ledge of bedrock jutting from the earth. Below them a river twisted at the foot of the cliff.

“What is it, Hur?”

The young man pointed east. “Smoke.”

Ordon peered into the clouds. Against the white-gray of the clouds, smears of black drifted from the plain.

“Wildfire?”

Hur shook his head. “Too wet.” Indeed, sheets of rain moved across the fields below, the beginnings of the autumn season. “And look, some miles behind.” More smoke plumes.

“An attack, then.” Moving from the Watch into Hyrule. “Ganon.”

“Yes, sir.” Ordon sent the man a swift look, surprised at his rough tone. But Hur was a Gotkasi.

“It wasn’t him, Hur.”

“I know,” the man replied.

“We’ll get Link back.”

Hur’s stony face gave his words deadly purpose. “Or we will destroy him.”

But how? What could he do to help not only the Champion, but the queen? He had hoped she was to be his daughter. In the short days he had known her, she had brought such light and happiness to his life. He knew Link would have hated an arranged union, but a prince, a king, had to make sacrifices.

With no children of his own, Link had been his son. He had spoiled the boy, as they all had. Even before they knew what he would become.

And now, his beloved child lay waste to these cities, killing untold innocent lives. What about the lives Ordon was tasked to protect? He had women, children, the elderly.

 _March to her aide_.

He turned. The Lady Ordona stood beside him, looking down on the destruction Her chosen soldier wrecked.

_Ganon must be stopped. She will need your help._

She met his eyes, Her gaze piercing his.

 _Save_ _My son, Ordon. Bring him home._

“Sir?”

Ordon blinked, a gust of wind tugging at his cloak.

“Hur, gather the soldiers. Send a message to Eris and Lynn. We march to Hyrule’s aide.”

“But, sir, what about the women?”

Ordon patted his shoulder. “Our women can handle themselves, my boy. Gather the Watch. We hunt _crytch_ in Hyrule.”

Hur saluted and slipped into the undergrowth.

 

He stood braced at the peak of the watchtower. The battle raged below, metal on metal, screams, explosions. The Hylians retreated pace by pace, pressed back along the road. Many turned and fled as the monsters swarmed over the buildings.

He could just see the glint of the Lake Hylia the haze of the chimneys of the city. Looking further, beyond the hills in the forests of the south, he could see the queen and her army hastening to defend her people.

He laughed, exultant.

“Hurry, little queen! I will be waiting for you!”


	12. The Fall of Castle Town

**Chapter Twelve: The Fall of Castle Town**

The court had gathered for an assembly. The king sat in his throne, muttering nonsense. His attendants practically held him down as he thrashed restlessly.

Most avoided looking at him, instead watching Bustine and Val as they conducted the business of the day. Misly shouldn’t be here but had wheedled the young Trevil into letting her see what he did during assembly sessions. He had agreed and bored her to death with minute details of each bill brought forward.

The Magistrate of Hateno droned on about subsidiary lending or something equally unintelligible. Shouts of disagreement traded back and forth between the differing party members, with Hateno plowing forward with barely a pause.

The heavy double doors slammed open. Bustine scowled, banging his lectern with a paperweight.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Hateno continued, undeterred.

“My lord, you must come. A messenger, an army! An army advances on the city!”

The room finally fell silent. Misly held her breath. Whose army?

“Explain!” Bustine ordered. The panting man did in short bursts of speech.

“To the west! An army, they’ve taken Thalin and Cryss Landing! My lord, it is the Prince!”

Alarm was building, a rumble of fear.

“What prince?”

“That Ordonian!”

Bustine was drowned out, shouts from all side demanding more information

 Misly sat numb. Impossible. The prince would never…Sheik said he supported the queen! Why would he attack her own people?

“Summon Captain Kyln at once!” Bustine ordered, bellowing over the noise. “Alert the Guard. Gentlemen, Ladies, calm your-”

“My lord!” Another man came sprinting into the bedlam. “My lord, the queen!”

“ _What?”_ Bustine’s beard bristled. “What nonsense is this?”

“The queen, she’s alive! She’s been seen marching on the Hateno road!”

Cries of shock, of realization. Calls for answers, accusations, disbelief.

Bustine stood frozen. He turned to Trevil. Trevil’s face never faltered from his good-natured smile. He stood, walked to the throne, and stabbed the king through the heart.

The king’s body slumped over. His crown fell to the floor and rolled across the dais. Trevil wiped his knife clean.

“Gentlemen, you have a choice. Die for the queen, or pledge allegiance to our lord Ganon.”

The assembly stood frozen. Trevil spoke sharp, guttural words that hurt her head. A crack appeared in the air next to him. A sliver of darkness. It writhed, whatever evil within trying claw free.

Panic spreading through the room, people running for the doors as the portal ripped open. Misly was buffeted from all sides, watching as a shadowy form approached the opening.

The acrid scent of smoke drifted through the opening. She could see fires and buildings fallen into rubble. Trevil bowed low, calling to his master.

The Prince stepped through, boots ringing against the stone floor. He stood, sword in hand, as the people fell back in terror.

He smiled and Misly knew it wasn’t him. No matter it was his face, the shoulders she had admired so many months ago. He spoke and it was like insects crawling up her body.

“Surrender,” he commanded. “And I will spare your pitiful lives.”

Behind him, beasts crawled through the portal. Hideous creatures, snarling, grasping. Screams drowned out his laughter. Misly finally turned and ran.

She must find Sheik. They _must_ find a way to warn the queen.

 

Chaos took the city. Monsters roamed freely, lashing out, destroying everything in their path. They blocked the bridges, trapping the populace inside the walls.

Some threw their support behind Ganon, willingly or through selfish self-preservation. Soldiers fought the beasts in isolated groups, others threw off their Hylian colors.

Misly drew her cloak over her head and slipped through the palace like a ghost. The younger Trevil had fled with his mother. Where they were now, she did not know.

She moved through the abandoned service corridors, ears straining for pursuit. She slipped into an office, holding her breath as something heavy lumbered toward her. It slowed, its many legs clicking against the stone floor.

She gripped her Sheik’ah totem, willing herself into nothingness. The beast sniffed curiously at the party open door. It grunted and moved on.

She waited until it turned a corner and hurried on her way.

Sheik and another man waited in a little used tower. She dropped the food and water she carried on a dusty crate.

“What news?” she asked, still trembling from her near miss.

“The queen is still two days out, at best.” They could see plumes of smoke from every quarter from the window

Sheik had aged in the last three days. “Does she know the city has fallen?”

“Surely some escaped,” the second man said. He was old, his hair pure white. But he moved with the fluidity of youth.

Misly had seen the hordes surrounding the city. “Maybe not. And many would not know to warn her. Only the assembly knows she is alive for certain.”

Sheik dragged a hand over his face. “I must go to her.”

“Then who will command the resistance fighters?” the man demanded.

“She must be warned. She _must_ be told that Link has…” He couldn’t say it.

“It’s not him,” Misly insisted yet again. “It’s Ganon.”

“But-”

“You weren’t there. That is not the prince. Maybe he’s been enchanted or he’s a copy, a shadow. But it’s not him.”

Sheik’s shoulders drooped. “I pray so. Or we have no chance of surviving this.”

“The question remains how to warn the queen.”

“There is a way out of the city,” Sheik said. “And in, if we can get her soldiers to the tunnel. Risky, but they will never breach the walls, not without artillery. Lin-” He cursed. “ _Ganon_ will use Link’s skill to hold this fortification. The only way to take the city back is to get more soldiers inside.”

“Our people should be here soon,” the old man said.

“Will it be enough, though?” Sheik asked, hopelessness dulling his voice. “If Ganon has Power _and_ Courage…”

Misly looked between them. “You mean, pieces of the Triforce?”

Sheik nodded. “Link was the Hero. The Hero always holds Courage. Ganon seeks Power. He must have it, to have overtaken Link.”

Three pieces and three combatants, linked in an eternal struggle for control of their world. “Zelda must have Wisdom, then.”

Sheik jerked to stare at her. “ _What_?!”

Misly explained as simply as she could. “The Enemy, the Hero, and the Lady. She is always the reincarnation of the Goddess Hylia, Lady of Wisdom and Kings. If we can free Link from Ganon…” Then the two of them would be powerful enough to defeat him.

“I must go to her!”

“You are needed here!”

“Send me.” Misly gripped her cloak, terrified but determined. “I will warn her that the Hero has fallen.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Misly thought of Trevil’s flat eyes. The stench of that beast still clung to her throat.

“It doesn’t matter. She must be warned. We have no time to debate.” She brushed down her skirt. It was the green silk, crumpled and stained from three days of hiding. “Where is this tunnel?”

Madame Pacquin stripped her down to her chemise, talking in a rapid undertone. “There is food and water for a week’s riding, should you be delayed. Simple, but enough if you spare it.” She tugged a heavy tunic over Misly’s head and brandished a pair of trousers. “ _Can_ you ride?”

“Well enough.”

Sheik was there, helping to pack the satchel. “This will conceal you, but only if you don’t draw attention.” He looped a different totem around her neck. He touched her forehead, whispering an incantation. “And a spell to give you strength.”

She felt that, as if she could run for endless leagues.

“It will wear off in a few hours’ time.  Long enough for you to get past the barricade.”

She shivered in the tunnel, feeling the weight of the city above. Her too large boots sloshed through water up to her knees. The ladder was slimy with algae.

Madame Pacquin squeezed her hands before pushing the tiny boat from the landing.

“May the Goddess protect you,” she called softly.

They were gone.

Misly rowed for the opposite shore. The Irritara was smooth here, but swift. Her strokes slapped loudly, the sound echoing from the stone edifice above her. She hunched as small as she could, praying to her Goddess as she worked the screws.

 _Great Merciful Goddess_ , _please guide me._ She had never been the most devoted worshiper. Too busy reading obscure histories to heed her more divine studies.

 _Please, please protect my family._ Had they managed to reach Brynn before the city fell? Did Ganon have forces moving throughout Hyrule? _Please, don’t let Han or Balka or Nelsin suffer. They are just children, please, oh Goddess._

It became a mantra, timed to her pulls. _Please, please, please._

She hit a sandbar. The shore. She jumped out, dragging the boat further onto the beach. She was breathing quickly, but not hard. Sheik’s spell kept her muscles ready, eager to move. What price would she pay for this when it wore off?

The enemy hordes moved through the outlying environs. Fires burned uncontrolled. Skirmishes broke out as they fought over food or a group of soldiers was discovered.

Misly ran through it all, clutching her cloak tightly around her. Keep on this road, Sheik had told her. The way was littered with wagons, barrels, bodies.

She refused to acknowledge the still bundles of cloth and fur lying on all sides. More humans than not, far more. How many had fallen? Could Hyrule survive this level of destruction? Where was Ordon, Drex, the Gerudo? Even the Zora or the Goron? Surely, they were concerned about the rise of Ganon in the land!

She was past the city. The road stretched before her, undulating over the rolling hills. She needed a horse.

The thought had barely formed when she heard hooves. She gripped her knife, slender and highly ineffectual, but all she had. She had to hide, but where?

A gravel pit. A half-loaded wagon. She dove under it, rolling painfully on the sharp rocks. She lay still, gasping for air now. Her legs had started to tremble. How long had she been running?

The hooves slowed and crunched on the gravel. She bit her lip, blinking back tears of frustration. She _had_ to warn her queen!

The horse stopped and pawed the ground. Misly waited for the rider to dismount, to peer under this obvious hiding place.

They didn’t. The horse nosed about, searching for edibles on the rocky ground. Misly chanced a peek.

The horse peered down at her. Saddled, but no rider. Misly wriggled free. What was this?

 _You asked for a horse_.

She stayed perfectly still, disbelieving.

_Hurry, fool girl!_

“Thank you, Lady!” she whispered. It was a tall animal, much larger than her usual mount. The animal waited patiently while she clambered up. Then it snorted and moved back to the road.

Its trot moved into a cantor, then a gallop. Misly held on, eyes watering from the speed. They moved so smoothly, she could not tell how fast they were traveling.

 _Fast enough_. _Now, fly, child!_

 

She fell asleep in the saddle and woke to shouts of alarm, commands to halt. She sat up in a panic.

The horse stopped of its own accord and stood blowing. Soldiers menaced her on all sides. She clutched her satchel close and gulped as they demanded answers.

“Enough,” a man said, shoving through the throng. He looked up at her with narrowed eyes. She sighed in relief. He wore the colors of Ordon; this must be Zelda’s army.

“Who are you?” he asked, his accent making him nearly unintelligible.

She slipped free of the stirrups. Her legs wobbled as she hit the ground. He steadied her and repeated his question.

“I am the Honorable Misly Thala Brynn. I have an urgent message for the queen.”

He blinked at her. Deciphering her Hylian? “What message?”

“I must speak to her directly.”

“The queen is busy. I am her-”

Misly’s stamped her foot like a child. “I don’t care who you are! I must speak with her immediately and you _will_ take me to her! At once! That is an order, soldier!”

One of the others said something in Ordonian. She noticed belatedly that this tall man had a different style to the markings on his armor. An officer, maybe. Someone of rank.

He responded to his kinsman. Then, with obvious patience, “I understand your worry, lady, but the queen-”

“My worry?” she shrieked. She always got shrieky when she was angry; it was horrid. “While my people are slaughtered by shadow beasts and Ganon masquerades as your Prince, you speak to me of _worry_?”

He gripped her arm. “You’ve seen Link? Tell me-”

She jerked free and slapped him. “Unhand me!”

He gaped at her, his red cheek standing out against his tan. She turned away from him with a toss of her wind tangled hair.

“Will _someone_ in this thrice cursed place take me to my queen?”

 

She almost did not recognize the woman who stepped out of the tent. She had always been stately, but now she was muscular. Her hair was bound up in knotted braids, a steely crown above her browned face.

But it was her. Her gentle smile and kind eyes.

“What is going on?” Zelda demanded. Misly broke from the agitated group escorting her and ran to her friend.

“ _Misly_? What are _you_ doing here?”

“My queen! You _are_ alive, thank Hylia!”

“Why-?”

“Oh, it’s just _awful_! Ganon has taken them city! He’s disguised as the prince and everyone thinks Ordon has turned on us! Sheik sent me to warn you, to not trust him! You must march for the city at once! We are besieged, Trevil was Ganon’s all along, let him into the palace! We can get you inside, but there are monsters and traitors everywhere! The Sheik’ah are coming, but we need you, my queen!”

Zelda stared down at her. “Link is in Castle Town?”

“But it’s not him, Zelda. I saw him with my own eyes. I swear to you, that monster is _not_ the man who came to us!”

Zelda soothed her. “I know, dear one. I was there when Ganon took him.”

Misly’s dashed her tears away impatiently. She didn’t have time for hysterics right now. “My dearest, your father…your father…”

“Dead? I expected as much.” The queen’s face was hard.

“My queen, it is so much worse-! Trevil _killed_ him, before the assembly. And let Ganon into the palace!”

Zelda took her elbow and steered her into the tent. “Don’t worry, Misly. I’ll deal with Lord Trevil before this is over. Sorrint!”

It was that tall officer. He followed them in. “Ma’am?”

“Gather the captains. And get Lady Misly something to drink.” Zelda put a hand on Misly’s forehead. “A _topia?_ Who did this?”

“Sheik,” Misly explained. “His people are marching to aid you but are still days away. There is a hidden way into the city, but the road is held by an army of Ganon’s forces.”

“How did you pass through?” this Sorrint asked.

Misly drew the amulet free of her tunic. “It will only protect one person, though.”

“What hidden way?” Zelda asked.

“A tunnel, beneath the Goddess bridge. Leads to a tavern in the East End.”

“Show me.” Zelda rolled out a map of the country side. Castle Town occupied most of the upper corner. Wishing Han was there, Misly squinted at the squiggles crossing the paper.

“We are here,” Sorrint said, pointing.

“I know!” she snapped. “I can read a map!” Sort of. She jabbed a finger at the bridge. “This one. Under the foundations. Monsters roam here and here.” She actually found the gravel pit where she had hidden. Proud of her accomplishment, she looked to Zelda’s thoughtful face.

“We’ll need a distraction,” the queen said. “Something to occupy the _crytch_ , draw them from the bridge. Where does this tunnel lead?”

“It’s a small tavern by the wall. You can trust them absolutely. Madame Pacquin aided Sheik while he hunted the conspirators.”

“Pacquin?” Zelda repeated. Misly looked between her and Sorrint’s startled looks.

“Yes, why?”

Zelda turned to the soldier. “Do you think he would remember?”

Sorrint scowled. “Maybe.”

“Remember what?”

Zelda sighed and pressed her hands to her eyes. “Link. He used this tunnel to smuggle escaped slaves into Castle Town. He helped _build_ it. If he suspects we would use it…”

“He would let us and slaughter us like rats in a trap.” Sorrint also rubbed his face, exhaustion darkening his eyes. They were brown, she noticed, like his hair. “Question is, how much of Link’s memories can Ganon see?”

“I’m not sure,” Zelda said slowly. “I have only flashes, moments.”

Misly watched her friend with new awe. The queen was almost a stranger, yet familiar, like someone she had met long ago. As the queen debated with Sorrint, Misly wondered at the power emanating from her.

“Zelda, my queen?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have Wisdom?”

Zelda started, turning from the map. She searched her face. “No. Ganon took it.”

The room wavered, her legs trembling. Sorrint gripped her elbow and led her to a stool. She had to lean forward, head in her hands. “Then he has all three pieces?”

“No,” Zelda said firmly. “Only Power and Wisdom.”

“But, the Champion-?”

Zelda’s face darkened for the first time. “Trust me, Misly. He does not control the Triforce.”

“Drink this.” Sorrint’s held a cup to her lips. Before she could protest, his strong hand forced her head back, tipping the sour liquid into her mouth. She gulped it down and broke into coughing fit.

“Better?”

She scowled at him, head clearer, but ringing. “Warn me, next time!”

Others had gathered, speaking Ordonian and thick, slurring Hylian. Even a few Zora.

Zelda explained succinctly what had occurred. She outlined their options, the risks. She gave her opinion and then stood silent while they debated.

Misly tried to follow, but there were too many numbers traded back and forth, names and places she did not know, accents too thick. Rocks were moved across the map as they experimented with troop placement and lines of attack.

She rested her head in her hands, weary and a little tipsy from whatever Sorrint had given her. The noise smeared into warbling mass. It pressed on her ears and made her feel sick.

A hand on her shoulder. She looked up to that officer, Sorrint.

“Come rest,” he said quietly. She shook her head, both negation and to clear it.

“What has been decided?”

His mouth thinned. “Nothing. The queen…” He considered his words. “The queen is very democratic.”

Misly bristled at even this mild criticism of her sovereign. “We can’t all be dictatorial savages!”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, lady, but I didn’t understand that last phrase?”

He was so backward, one couldn’t even insult the man properly! “Nothing,” she said sullenly.

He was still puzzled. At least, she thought he was, watching her with a crease between his brows.

“What is your age?”

“What does it matter to you?” she spat back.

He smiled suddenly. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“Sorrint?”

He looked her a moment more, then turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Walk with me.”

Misly hesitated, then hurried after them. Her legs were stiff, but she hobbled as best she could to match their long strides.

Zelda saw her and included her with a slight smile. “My dear friend, how can I repay you for this service?”

Misly squeezed her hand. “Don’t be silly. Seeing you again is more than enough reward.”

“Your family? Your sisters?”

“Safe, I pray. Out of the city before the attack.”

“But, how did you get mixed up in this? With Sheik? And the conspiracy?”

Misly told her story, amazed at how short a time it had been. It felt as if the season had lasted a lifetime.

Zelda laughed as she told of her betrothal to Trevil’s son. “You poor thing! Did you suffer greatly?”

Misly shrugged. “I think he was the one to be pitied.”

Sorrint muttered something. Zelda shot him a quick look of surprise.

“What did you say?” Misly demanded. Unchivalrous, making boorish comments in a language she couldn’t understand. She was certain it was disparaging, as he flushed a little and said in his atrocious Hylian, “Had this Trevil been suspect before?”

“No,” Zelda said slowly. “No. I never liked him, but to ally with Ganon? Who in their right mind would do such a thing?”

Misly shivered. Trevil wasn’t in his right mind, not with those eyes. “I searched his rooms but couldn’t find anything. And he suspected me, I could tell. His son had never paid the least attention to me before.”

“Too light in the slipper?” Zelda suggested. Misly stuck her tongue out at her.

“No, too bookish!” she retorted.

Zelda leaned on a barrel, clutching her side as she laughed.

Sorrint was confused again. “What is a bookish?”

That only made the queen laugh harder and Misly’s cheeks flame with indignation.

“Care to explain, my dear?” Zelda chortled.

“No, I do not!”

Zelda wiped her cheeks. “Oh, Misly, my darling, I have missed you!” She turned to Sorrint. “My lovely friend here is known the breadth of Hyrule for her flirtatious nature.”

Misly’s blush crept down her neck.

Sorrint’s brows were arched in disbelief. “Is that so.”

She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, too, but would not stoop to such childish behavior. “No need to sound so incredulous. I am accounted a great beauty; I can’t help it if men adore me.”

He swept a critical eye over her ragged and travel-worn person. “Indeed.”

Her friend’s stifled giggles helped her control her swelling temper. This man could not be baited into losing his, she was sure. She decided to resolutely ignore him.

“What are you going to do, my queen?”

Zelda sobered, but still smiled. “I don’t know. I will think on it. But we will march at once. Sorrint, spread the word.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your Majesty!” A call from her tent. She sighed.

“I must go. Can you-?”

Sorrint nodded. ‘Yes, my queen.”

The queen strode away, so changed, yet so much the same. The sword at her back glinted in the sunlight.

“Lady?”

Misly shook off her preoccupation. She body ached and the spirits were wearing off.

“I’m tired,” she said miserably.

“After such a journey, I believe it.” He gestured for her to follow. “You can ride in a wagon, if you wish. Sleep for a few hours.”

She nodded. “And some food?”

“Of course.” He led her to a wide, low tent. “Miss Hale will take care of you.”

A thin, smiling woman greeted her with a bob of her head. She didn’t speak, but gestured for Misly to enter, miming eating and drinking.

Sorrint detained her a moment, his hand light on her wrist.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “The queen needed your message. Needed you.”

She examined his face, square and stern. “Why do you call her your queen?”

“Because she is. Or she will be, when she marries my prince.”

Misly swallowed. “And if we can’t save him?”

Sorrint spoke with absolute certainty. “We will. We have to.”

Misly wished she felt his confidence. Ganon had been so powerful. His mere presence had left a mar on her soul, a burn. How could the prince bear it? Could he? Or had his soul be consumed long ago?

“You are very brave,” Sorrint said.

She turned to frown at him.

“Aiding Sheik. Risking your safety with this Trevil.” He seemed to consider his words again. “Will this son of Trevil be worried about you?”

Misly snorted rudely. “About me? He’s more likely to sob over his horses than some feathery chit like me.”

Another Hylian phrase he didn’t understand. “He thinks you’re a bird?”

“No, chit, feathery chit. It means he thinks I’m stupid and shallow. Vain.”

“Oh. Well, then he is a fool.” Sorrint gave her a salute. “Excuse, ma’am, I will be needed.”

Misly watched him go, his own sword riding jaunty over his shoulder. Miss Hale was back, proffering a bowl of the most delicious smelling food Misly had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

 

Zelda considered all through the day, as her army marched toward her home. She searched through Link’s memories, good and bad, trying to find the answer.

She dreamed of the misty woods again. She did every night, but now she walked with purpose. She could see a light ahead, glowing in the distance. The whispers could not draw her away any longer.

And even in her dreams she hesitated. What should she do? How to sneak her army in? How to take the gate? Should they trust such a route? She needed each of her soldiers if she was to win. Every death gave Ganon a greater chance at victory.

She had been lucky in her nearly seven years of rule. She had never faced a war, never battled an enemy on her own soil. She had always been the more powerful of two adversaries, her might tempering the aggression of lessor nations.

Now, she was the weak one. Now, she knew the men she sent to fight and die. For her, for her throne.

 _For their freedom_.

That truth gave her courage. She had to stop him, no matter the cost to her or her people.

_Use it._

Zelda sat up in the darkness.  She slept on the ground by her Lieutenants. They had not even taken time to pitch tents. She stood and walked carefully to top of the rise. The sentry acknowledged her and faded back into the darkness.

She looked north and west, toward her home. Her enemy and her prince.

 _The way will be prepared for you. Trust in him_.

She touched the hilt of her silvery Sword. I do, she told it.

She went back to her bed and lay looking at the stars until the sky began to lighten.

 

It had been many years since she had come to the city. Impa stood on a small ridge, the last of the Faron range before the great field and the capital of Hyrule. The sun was just rising and her people were on the move.

They sang as they marched. Their battle hymns startled the birds into flight. Soon would be the time for stealth. But now they rejoiced in their purpose.

The smaller towns and villages along this road were abandoned. The populace had fled when news of the city’s fall swept out into the countryside.

Raphio joined her, balancing his great-sword over one shoulder.

“Any word of the queen’s army?” he asked.

“Moving north along the Hateno Road.” Impa said, enjoying the dull sunrise. Behind the clouds, the faintest pink and purple glowed. One never knew which sunrise would be their last. “They will reach the city by nightfall.”

“Then we must pick up the pace,” Raphio said cheerfully. “Oi! Sil! Yhella!” He jogged down the hill to join the column of Sheik’ah.

Impa touched the token at her neck. It warmed for a moment, then faded. He was alive, somewhere in the city. Ganon’s magic obscured him, blocked their connection.

Impa smiled, her scarred lip tugging it into a leer. She would enjoy breaking the Shadowlord’s magic.

 

“My lord? The queen’s army has been sighted! They are advancing on the Hateno.”

He rose from his lounge in the Hylian throne. The king’s body still lay where it had slumped to the floor. Its fetid stink was masked by the beasts crouched in the shadows.

“Good. They will try to breach the gate.”

The man, a Hylian, swallowed nervously. “And…”

“And?”

“And there is another army, from the west.”

Ordon. He smiled. “And?”

“And the east.”

Sheik’ah. “Tell me, any Goron seen tumbling down from Eldin? Or mighty Rito soaring through the sky?”

“No, my lord? There is word of fleet of ships up the Menoat.”

The Zora always did stick their tails in everyone else’s business. “Prepare to meet them. If the queen is sighted, alert me at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

A cowardly man, regretting his decisions. He would die with the rest of them. “Go.”

 

Ordon kicked the _crytch_ free of his sword. There were different clans here, but they died the same. His men rolled over the first wave and broke the next on the same advance.

These _crytch_ had never faced the Demon Watch.

Once in the outlying borough, the _crytch_ could retreat into alleys and doorways. It split the Ordonians’ force. But they trained for this, fighting in pairs or alone, regrouping, circling, always moving forward.

Men fell. Their comrades carried them on. Healed them if possible or left them resting in Ordona’s arms.

Ordon stood breathing hard as the last of the _crytch_ in this quarter fled. The city loomed above them. The bridge rose majestic to the gate. It was a death trap he would not send him men to die in.

They gathered in the plaza before the bridge. The rumble of battle from across the delta could be heard over the roar of the water.

“The queen!” Someone shouted, pointing to a flag snapping in the wind. “Do we join her?”

“No,” Ordon said. They had to divide Ganon’s forces, split his attention. Ordona had been perfectly clear. They were to hold this bridge, attack from the west. “We hold here and wait.”

The battle-thirsty soldiers grumbled at their bridle. Even a thousand strong, the largest gathering of their kind in a generation, they were no match for the might of Ganon.

So, they defended and watched. Small groups of roaming _crytch_ attacked throughout the afternoon and evening. Sorties from the city were sent to test them, pick away at their strength. Arrows flew thick and the beasts fell long before they reached their line.

The queen was being pushed back. As the light faded, her army retreated along the road. They were rebuffed at each attempt to flank. They had no chance alone.

Ordon stood firm and waited.

 

 


	13. Courage

**Chapter Thirteen: Courage**

Zelda knew her place was at the rear, commanding her troops. So she ignored the increasing restlessness of her Sword. Her soldiers fought bravely, but they could not push forward. They retreated through the streets of the warehouses outside the Goddess Bridge.

Sorrint made runs into the fray and reported back. He wiped his sword clean and tested the edge.

“We are holding well but running short of arrows.”

“Any sign of him?”

“No.”                              

She scowled at the walls of her city. She felt sure Ganon would want to gloat, to come out and face her. If she could keep him busy, her men concealed along the riverbank could slip in undetected. Misly hid with them, waiting for the signal from her queen.

Where was he?

A soldier ran up, breathing hard with blood on his face. “Lieutenant! The right flank is falling back.”

Sorrint hefted his shield. “I’m coming.”

“Wait!” Zelda looked up into the night, hiding much more than the stars. “Go to the river.”

“Ma’am?”

“I’ll manage here,” she told him. “Go. Be safe.”

He grinned at her, a mischievous smile so like Link’s they could be brothers in truth. He ran into the darkness.

Zelda turned to the messenger. “Where?”

 

Darkness settled over the city. True darkness, the Shadow closing its fist around Hyrule.

“It’s time. Release the _kukhghi_.”

 

They broke through the blockade. The wide bridge hampered their defense, under cover from the towering gate and walls. They advanced slowly, shields raised to deflect the projectiles into the river below.

Zelda watched her soldiers inch forward. They had no siege weapons. They could burn the gate, but it would take too long. Should she pull them back? Give up this hard-won ground? Should she-?

A thundering crash behind her. She turned to see a form rise up from the darkness. Taller than the buildings, almost as tall as the gate itself.

It roared. She pressed her hands to her ears, shouting to fight the pain of it. Even the _crytch_ fell back, scrambling for cover as this monstrosity reared back and bellowed challenge.

Never had the Champion faced a colossus of this size. His memories gave her one instruction.

 _Run_.

She did, diving to the side as a clawed limb smashed the house she stood by. Bricks rained down on her. She covered her head and sprinted through the tangled streets. Its screeching cries gritted her teeth as it flailed madly, destroying the already damaged buildings.

 _Run_.

She scrambled up a broken wall, jumping onto the roof. The planks gave way unpredictably under her feet as she jumped from roof to roof.

_Run!_

The beast turned, deceptively fast in its size. She couldn’t see the details in the darkness. The torches and fires below hinted at fangs and a gaping mouth set too low for its height.

She skidded back as another limb slammed into the block in front of her. The ground trembled with the force of the blow. Run where? She had not trekked across half of Hyrule to run now! When she was so close to him!

 _Keep running_!

There had to be a weak point, _something_ she could attack. Foul air breathed from its mouth. Where were its eyes?

She was trapped, its many arms blocking her path, hemming her in. She held her sword steady. She would not die here, not like this.

It leaned down to her, a pitiful figure next to its enormity. She was dimly aware of the sounds of the battle still churning by the gate. Isolated from them, she had no way to escape.

The air grew heavy, the darkness pressing in around her. The Shadow was here. There was no way to turn it back, no hope for victory or even survival. She would die here with all her people.

She was weak. Cowardly. Nothing.

“Enough!” she shouted, forcing these thoughts away. “Face me!”

She slashed at the claw that grabbed for her. Her Sword rang like bells as it sheered through its flesh. It howled, enraged, gelatinous blood oozing from the dismembered limb.

**_Run!_ **

She jumped, leaping into empty space as its tail whipped around, destroying the building she had been standing on.

_Never stop moving!_

His restlessness, the _need_ to move, to run, to fight. She hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb some of the impact. Her ankles and knees ached as she used the momentum to drive herself to her feet and sprint.

She skidded back as the enraged beast lashed out blindly. Another sweeping arc of the Sword, a wail of pain. How many arms did it have?

It leaned down, it’s scaly underbelly scraping over the rubble, growling as it searched for her.

 _There_!

An eye, bulbous and red, burning with its evil own light.

The wind on his face, so cold it burned as he fell through the clouds, the fletching brushing his ear as he sighted down the metal shaft, the crackling energy within singing through his body as he loosed.

But she had no bow, no enchanted arrow. Lost in a battle weeks ago.

Both their frustrations made her reckless. She ran into the open, Sword gleaming, stabbing through the Shadow gathered to watch her destruction.

It saw her. She planted her feet, Sword braced, its lethal point raised. If she died here, she would take this vile demon with her.

A growl like a laugh. _His_ laugh, triumphant, mocking her sacrifice. The beast raised a massive claw, her death in its grasp.

She threw up a hand as a brilliant light streaked through the darkness. An explosion and a shriek of pain and rage from the monster. She blinked her eyes clear, watering from the power of the light.

Another flaming trail, another flashing explosion. Two, three at once. Debris rained down on her as the beast snarled. It fell back, overcome by the onslaught.

It hit the ground. The earth buckled from the impact, but she was already running. Tossed into the air, she jumped and landed on one of its scaly arms.

It struggled, nearly sweeping her feet out from under her. She could hear the continued attack from the darkness. Felt the heat of the rockets twisting by her.

Its eye rolled madly, teeth as tall as she was gnashing in pain.

The last thing it saw was her Sword, gleaming with clear golden light as she drove it home.

She gripped the hilt with all her strength while it thrashed its death throes.

 _Never lose your weapon_. Sorrint, Davin, Eris, told her, told him, over and over. _Make them cut it from your lifeless hand. **Never** give up your weapon._

He was nothing without his weapon. The Master Sword made the Champion. Without it, he was just a man. Damaged, tainted. Weak.

She wanted to shout at it him: You are not weak! You are strong, stronger than any of us!

“Zelda!” They were calling her name frantically. “Zelda! Where are you?”

She straightened, tugging the Sword from the ruined eye of the Shadow Beast.

“Here!” she called back. Croaked, more like. Her mouth was coated with brick dust. She hurt everywhere, her knees, hips, shoulders. “I’m here!”

Dark forms moved toward her. She was too tired to fight, not caring if the _crytch_ swooped down on her in this moment of weakness.

“Zelda?”

“I am she.”

They were hooded and cowled. One stepped forward.

“I am Impa of the Sheik’ah.”

Zelda was too busy catching her breath to respond. She leaned over, hands on knees. The massive thing beside her still twitched.

“Are you injured, ma’am?”

Was she? She was too numb, too relieved to be alive to feel her pain.

“No.”

They helped her limp to an area free of debris. Rockets continued to light the night sky.  The gate shuddered, burning in places. Her soldiers held their ground, ready to breach the gate when it fell.

“We are four hundred in number, Your Majesty. Artillery, as you can see.”

Zelda chuckled at the woman’s dry remarks.

“I can, Lady Impa. And I thank you.”

“Where are we needed?”

“I leave your troops to your direction,” she told the Chieftess of the Sheik’ah. “My men will try to break through here. I have others poised to enter another way. I need Ganon distracted while they enter the city.”

Impa drew off her cowl. “It would be my pleasure, my queen.” She spoke in her native tongue and her soldiers shouted affirmation.

Zelda hefted her Sword and followed the Chieftess back into the battle.

 

Misly huddled inside the cloak Sorrint had dropped over her shoulders. She had led him and the others of this infiltration force to the edge of the river. The muddy beach had been free of monsters. The sounds of battle drifted down to them, the reverberations off the bridge pilings amplifying strangely.

Steps hurried toward them. The soldiers turned to challenge them. It was him.

He and the others spoke in tense whispers. The soldiers stood and readied themselves. They had found anything that would float to carry them across the river.

Misly thought their numbers too small, only thirty-three men, including the Lieutenant. But they seemed confidant, cheerful, almost. Eager to fight.

She swallowed a thick feeling in her throat. Sorrint came to her, voice pitched low.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she whispered shakily. He took her arm and helped her into the rowboat she had left here, how many days ago? It felt like a lifetime.

The others readied their makeshift craft and followed her into the water.

Sorrint and another of his men rowed. There was no way she could fight the current without Sheik’s spell. She was too weak, had avoided most forms of exertion at all costs. These men cowed her, made her feel delicate in the most menial, degrading way.

But he had called her brave. She _had_ been brave, even compared to the woman he was used to, who could likely kill her as easily as he slew the monsters hunting them.

“There!” She pointed to the narrow shelf built onto the foundations of the bridge.

She crawled clumsily out of the boat and threw the line to him. Their craft crowded around. The soldiers skipped from raft to raft as if they were solid ground.

The wheel turned smoothly. Madame Pacquin must have oiled it. The hatch lifted without a squeak.

He detained her. “I’ll go first.”

She peered anxiously into the absolute darkness below. A light flared.

“Clear!” he called. She slipped on the ladder. He grabbed her and lifted her down into the water pooled at the base.

“Any branches off this tunnel?”

“No.”

They hurried forward. The lantern light bobbed, gleaming off the damp walls. The mass of footsteps was like the rustling of some giant beast. She pressed up close behind the Lieutenant. He did not slow but reached back and gripped her wrist.

Finally, the tunnel turned up and they reached the cellar room. Sorrint boosted her so she could hammer on the cellar door.

She counted her breaths, as her heart was thundering too fast to measure. Fifteen, sixteen.

The door lifted.

“Madame!”

“Misly?”

“Let us up!”

“Us?”

Madame Pacquin stood back as the soldiers climbed up into the storeroom.

“Ordonians, Tatolans,” Misly explained. “The queen sent them to take the city.”

Madame Pacquin blinked at the men as they moved into the main tavern. The windows were barricaded. Only a single lamp was lit.

“Take the city? With only a few dozen men?” she said incredulously.

“Trust them,” Misly said. This woman had never seen these men in battle.

“There’s reports of more of them at the Fello Gate.”

Sorrint came to her. “More Ordonians?” he asked.

“An army. They’ve taken Cryss Landing and hold the bridge. But they can’t breech the gate.”

Sorrint’s smile was a dark slash across his face. “Where is this Fello Bridge?”

Madame Pacquin showed him on a crudely drawn map.  He spoke to his men quickly. Then to Madame Pacquin, “Will you be safe here?”

“We’ve held our own well enough.”

Misly’s eyes burned with tears as he turned to her. “Stay here.”

She wanted to argue. Stupid, irrational. What good could she do for him and his mission?

Nothing, she knew well enough. Only say, “Hylia protect you” in a weak, aching voice.

His men were ready. He stilled a moment, then drew a knife from his hip.  It was a straight, square blade. He held it out to her.

She took it in both hands, gripping the worn hilt.

“Won’t you need it?” she asked.

“I’ll come back for it.”

Madame Pacquin let them out into the darkness.

 

Val nudged Sorrint as they crouched in the lee of a tall building.

“What?”

He tapped Sorrint’s empty sheath. “Missing something?”

Sorrint was glad the darkness hid his flush. “Shut up.”

His men chuckled while they crept toward the gate standing tall in the night.

 

Another volley of arrows, more carcasses piled on the stones. How many did Ganon have? They seemed to ooze from the shadows. The gate stayed firmly shut.

Ordon knew his men were impatient. They watched the battle on the far side of the delta, impotent as the beast rampaged. Someone had slain it; Ordon dared hope there was a Hero after all.

How could the Goddesses abandon them now? When Ganon’s might was reaching its peek?

“My lord! The gate!”

Ordon came out into the open. The gate was opening. He gripped his sword, hand blistered and aching from the day’s battle.

“Ready yourselves,” he told his men. What would Ganon send out to them? How many of those beasts did he have?

 _Crytch_ made a scrabbling black mass on the bridge. The first wave fell to arrows, the second. Still they streamed out, stepping on their dead to advance.

Ordon halted the archers. The main force of the Ordonians stood ready in a wedge, shields up and swords gleaming the fires of the ruined city.

The _crytch_ broke around them and continued into the night. Hundreds fell as they rushed past, but none turned to fight.

“My lord! Why are they-?”

“The gate!”

The gate stayed open. The signal fires were lit, three beacons above the stonework.

“Someone has opened the gate!”

Ordon threw up his shield as the night brightened in an instant. A moment later, a concussion that shook the ground. Ears whining, he peered through the darkness.

“The gate!”

He scrambled to see. What had he done? Was Zelda alive?

The far gate was ablaze. Blinking after-glare from his vision, he could see chunks blasted from the masonry, even across the delta.

“My lord? The gate! Do we advance?”

The fastest way to the queen was through the city. Ordon called his men forward.

“Stay in your battle groups.  Davin, Thall, you secure this quarter. Eris, Wetlin, Hunt, make a path to the palace. The rest, we will rendezvous with the queen.”

Many years had come and gone since a Lord of Ordon passed through this threshold. The narrow streets and tall buildings were nothing like his smaller city nestled in the valley.

No life stirred within. Signs of battle surrounded them, but nothing alive now.

“Fled or killed?” Davin asked.

“Hopefully the first.”

“Then who opened the gate?”

Davin spun at a sound down an alley. Figures approached cautiously from the shadows.

“Ordon?”

Ordon turned, startled. “ _Sorrint_?

The man and his warriors came out of the darkness. Ordon embraced his friend. “Sorrint! Val, you blasted- wait, where’s Enon?”

“Safe. As possible, that is. Left in Fort Hateno with the women and children.”

“Well, most of them,” Val muttered slyly. Sorrint ignored him.

“The queen is attempting to breach the Goddess Gate. Did you hear that explosion?”

“We are moving to meet her. We will take the gate from inside.”

Sorrint nodded. “We’ll join you. We’re looking for a man called Sheik. He leads the resistance inside the walls.”

“Where is he, Sorrint? Have you seen Link?”

The soldier glanced uneasily to the palace above them. “Inside, I think. We need to get Zelda to him. She’s the only one who can defeat him.”

Ordon wiped sweat from his forehead. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

 

Sheik waved for his men to hush. They did, scared and desperate after days of fighting for survival. Despite the resistance, the city had been quiet, muffled by the Shadow pressing down on them.

Now, voices, massed shouts, broke through the night.

“ _Ordon! Ordon!”_

_“Hanchi!”_

_“Dhatin!”_

_“Gotkasi!”_

Sheik turned to his cowed Hylian men. “Ordon has come! Hurry! We must support them!”

He flashed a signal from a window. A return message blinked. He drew his swords, eager to end this.

“Come on! For Hyrule!”

 

The armies met in the great central plaza. Sheik’ah, Hylian, Ordonian. The shadow beasts fell back, retreating into the streets, the gardens, anywhere free of swords and death.

Zelda’s head still rang from the concussion of Impa’s ‘solution.’ The gate had fallen, one massive door blasted free of the housing.

Now, she ran up the palace approach. Her men called for her to slow, to be cautious. She wanted to, but she _had_ to find him. She could hear him calling for her, pleading for help.

“Your Majesty! Wait!”

Their calls blended into the others in the forest. She ran for the light, _his_ light. It flickered, dimming, struggling.

 _I’m coming!_ She jumped the gap in the drawbridge. _Link! Don’t give in!_

The castle was in ruins, broken stones and burned timbers. The tapestries lay wasted and torn on the dirty floors.

 _Crytch_ scuttled through the corridors of her home. She killed those foolish enough to cross her path. Others retreated into the depths of the palace.

The light still shone, high above.

She slowed on the last curving flight of stairs. Gripping the Sword, she entered the chambers that had been hers, so many months ago.

Nothing had been left unsullied. The furniture was broken and piled in one corner. Her books, papers, all her possessions dashed about. Glass crunched under her boots.

“Link? Where are you?”

He sighed, looking out the broken windows over the battles below.

“Why can you not accept the truth, Zelda? There _is_ no Link.” He turned to face her. “There never was. There is nothing left for you to save.”

He gestured and the door slammed shut behind her.

“He was never more than a tool, a vessel. I would normally have disposed of him at once, but since you so conveniently fell in love with him.” He shrugged and smiled. “It does not always happen so, but does add a depth of pathos to this game.”

Her Sword gleamed silver and bright. “You cannot win, Ganon. Let him go.”

His was dull, absorbing the light she brought.

“I don’t think you would want him anymore. He’s broken, listless. He hardly fights his shackles.”

She circled warily. “Link will never stop fighting. _I_ will never stop fighting.”

“Poor, stupid girl,” he hissed. “Defiant to your last breath.”

“I am the Hero.”

“We shall see.”

It was the Ancient Hero’s skill and power, married with deadly fury. She blocked and skidded back, barely holding her own. Soon, her hands ached, her wrists and shoulders snapping from his attacks.

She defended, not daring to open herself to an injury from the Shadow Blade. It reflected nothing but his eyes, a heavy, dead sound when it struck her Sword.

He drew back unexpectedly. “Is this really the best you can do?” he mocked. He turned away, shouting to the low sky above. “Is this the best you can offer me? _This_ is your Hero, Faroe? A girl still afraid of her own shadow?”

She clenched her teeth.

_A calm mind and heart._

She stayed back, weapon ready. “This girl wounded you once before.”

He smiled. “Indeed, you have. Many times, in fact.” She barely deflected his strike, his movements blurring with their speed.

“Countless times, your arrows have wounded me, left me weak for the Hero to finish.” His voice grew rougher, deeper. Link’s blue eyes clouded, glaring darkness as he attacked again and again. “Countless times you and your Hero have defied me, stolen what is rightfully mine!”

She cried out as he twisted her wrist around. The Sword spun into the shadows.

_Never let go of your weapon!_

She lunged after it. She spun and stopped his killing strike just as the Shadow Blade brushed her head.

She gritted her teeth as she held the edge off her face, hands braced on her Sword. He leaned into her, his boot pressing into her chest.

“Shall I let him out?” he asked softly, teeth bared as her defense slipped closer and closer. “Let your death be the last thing he sees before I destroy him utterly?”

She shouted defiance, shoving him back. She knocked the Shadow Blade aside. The blade whistled as he spun it and slammed it into hers, over and over. Sparks bit at her face, the air turning hot and sharp.

He raised the Shadow Blade over his head. She gripped the Sword and closed her eyes as he swung down on her.

The Sword Made to Pierce the Darkness broke.

The blast threw them apart. She rolled, still clenching the hilt.

His ragged breaths rose out of the silence. She pushed herself up, eyes watering as the wind shrieked around her.

Her tower was gone. As she stood, the south wall crumbled, the bricks falling silently to the ground far below.

He came to his feet, his face burned and bleeding. She faced him, body aching. Blood dripped from her hands, her chest.

He raised the ruins of the Master Sword, consumed as he was, by darkness. Its jagged edge cut through the night.

“Still you fight?” he asked.

 “Forever.”

“Maybe you were right. Maybe you _are_ the Hero.”

She set herself, the splintered remains of her Sword ready. He came forward confidently, swinging the Shadow Blade as a child does a switch.

“A last chance, little queen. Give in, serve me. I am not without mercy. That’s what you Hylians believe, isn’t it? That the gods will hear your suffering and take pity on your worthless lives?”

She stood firm. “You are not a god.”

She dodged his thrust, scrambling back as he sliced up and out. He tripped her; she grabbed his chest plate, pulled him over with her. They rolled, heels over heads. He jerked free, dragging her up by her wrist.

She fell to her knees, crying out as his twisted her arm.

“Good-bye, little hero.”

She had this one last chance. She feinted to his face. He released her to block the thrust. He lifted his arm to strike and she plunged the remnants of her weapon into his chest.

He staggered back a pace and stared down at the hilt piercing his chest plate.

He gripped it, made to pull it free. Screamed with pain and dropped the Shadow Blade to cradle his burned hand. The Sword glowed hot, white, golden, a lance of light stabbing through him. It cut through the darkness pressing in around them, growing, purifying.

When it faded, he stood still a moment. He fell back.

She bit her lip against the pain in her arm, her back, her knee. He was limp, eyes half open and dull.

“Link! Link wake up!”

The hilt was still hot. She dared not touch it.

“Link! Link, my love, speak to me!”

His chest moved, barely a whisper of breath.

“Hold on! Fight!” She ripped her gloves free with her teeth, cradling his head. “Fight, Link! Are you the Champion or not!”

“Zel…Zelda?”

He moved his eyes aimlessly as blood ran down his chest.

“I’m here, hold still.”

How could she heal this? Her hands grew warm, then hot as she poured her life into him. “Hold on, Link.”

“What…what happ…?”

“Hush! Breathe, Link.”

He was growing stronger. He tried to push her away.

“Stop. Please!” he begged. “You can’t- you must not- “

“I _will_ save you!” she gritted out. Her legs were going leaden, numb. “I _will_!”

Darkness hung over them. Gathered, oozed from the cracks in the stones, from each of his injuries. She felt it rise above them, looming behind her.

His eyes brightened. He saw it.

“Stop! You must-! He’s _here_!”

She ignored them both.

“I _will_ save you!” Her hands glowed golden, feeding his soul. Her own faltered, willing given.

“No! _No!_ ”

She opened herself completely, willed everything she had into him.

The numbness of her mind was nothing to the chill of _his_ grasp on her. She would be an excellent vessel, weakened, weary, desperate.

She felt Link’s panic, the anguish as he watched her be consumed by shadow. Felt his fury and guilt as he cast about for a weapon, any weapon. The agony as he ripped the Sword from his chest and plunged it into the heart of the Shadow.

Its shriek cut into her. She slumped, pushed aside as they thrashed. He stood over her, the broken fragment of the Sword dripping with his own blood.

The Shadow reared back and struck. It wailed as he slashed at it. A mirrored fragment lifted from the ground. Others, dozens, reforming her Sword.

He thrust and rolled, coming up with a second blade. The Shadow Blade. His hands glowed golden, his eyes, his skin. She cringed from his radiance as she had his darkness.

The Shadow hissed. “You dare use my Power against me?”

His voice was different, echoing and ancient. “I hold the Master Sword.” The blade flashed as the evil was burned from the steel. “I am the Champion.”

“You play with forces you cannot comprehend, boy.”

“I am a Prince.”

“It will destroy you, as It has others who dared to claim it.”

“I am the Hero.”

The Shadow screamed, a thousand voices of pain and fury. “You cannot control It. Even your gods were consumed! You cannot hold It! It is _mine_!”

His twin blades cut the air, flashes like lightening and cracks of thunder as he beat the Shadow back. It fled, dispersing into the night, a dark cloud flying against the wind.

He wanted to chase it, follow it into the Other. Hunt it and destroy it once and for all. She had to stop him.

“Link!” She could barely hear her own voice over the roaring in her head. “Link, don’t!”

He stilled, white fire stirring his ragged clothing. He turned to look back at her. It was him, but as if he were a god. Her own being was brittle and empty. She had given it to him and now he would be consumed by it.

She wept helplessly. “I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t save you. Please, you must stop!”

He stepped back to the stones. “Zelda?”

“You can’t hold all three pieces! It will destroy you!” Worse than death; he would become like Ganon.

“I can finish this! End it! Forever! No more Hero, no more war. I _must_!”

“Please, I can’t, Link, I can’t!” She gasped breathlessly. The sky grew pale with more than dawn. Panic, terror swept over her. “Please, I-”

“Zelda!” He was at her side. She felt her shoulders lift, his arm under her. “Zelda, wake up! Zelda! Stay with me.”

Something hot pressed to her chest. “Take it! Damn you, woman, _take it back_!”

She didn’t want it, any of it. She just wanted to be allowed to rest. It was a burden she had not wanted, hated the weight it anchored to her soul.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, rocking her, soothing her. “I hate it. I hate making you carry it. But if you don’t, you’ll die and I can’t watch that, my love. I can’t live in a world without you. I’d destroy everything. I have It, _volje_. Nothing could stop me. Please, take it, _please_.”

He was weeping, his hand pressed against her chest. It burned, resisting.

“Please, stay here with me. I can’t lose you again. I’ve lost you so many times, my queen. I can’t do this alone.”

Her arm was like stone, stiff and lifeless. She laid her hand over his. His fingers twined with hers. She felt the faintest brush of his lips on hers.

“Please, my love. Don’t leave me alone.”

It was a weight. But it warmed her, too. Gave her purpose, grounded her.

He was still crying, holding her tightly.

“Link?”

He smoothed back the straggling tangles of her hair. “Yes, _volje_?”

She gripped his chest plate and dragged his face to hers. He actually pushed back, surprised and nervous.

He helped her to her feet. She limped with an arm over his shoulder until she remembered.

“You’re wounded!”

He tried to downplay it, though he was noticeably pale. “I’ll be alright.” The gaping holes in his armor showed where the Blade had pierced him straight through.

It was a long trek through the castle. He staggered a few times, catching himself on the wall.

Link did not straighten from his last stumble, but slid down the wall to sit. A trail of bloodied footprints tracked behind them.

She undid his buckles with stiff fingers. He groaned as she pressed her hand against the sluggishly bleeding wound.

“Your fault this time,” he said with a weak laugh. “And a good job, too. I never saw it coming. Who taught you that trick?”

“Sorrint.”

“Ah,” he said. His eyes slid shut.

“Stay awake. He’s here.”

“Sorrint?”

“And Eayn and Tov. They marched across all of Hyrule to thrash you for your stubbornness. You can’t die now.”

“I’m not going to die, _volje_ ,” he promised, slurring a little. He lifted her hand free to kiss it, smearing blood on his face. “Not until I’ve spoken to your father.”

She couldn’t tell him, not now. What would it do to him, to learn all Ganon had done with his hands?

People were calling her name.

“Here! Come quickly!”

Soldiers swarmed over her. Cries of shock, questions, exclamations; she ignored them all as they lifted the barely conscious Champion. She gripped his dangling hand, cold and sticky.

“This way, Your Majesty. We have healers waiting.”

She prayed they were not too late.


	14. The Lost Hero

**Chapter Fourteen: The Lost Hero**

The afternoon wind rose clouds of ash. Misly thought she would never get the grit of it out of her eyes and teeth.

Two days since the Shadow had fled. The citizens were trickling back. Some even dared to enter the city. They returned with meager provisions. It would be a long, hungry winter.

And as such, she worked with the other women to sort through the useable goods. She tied a cloth around her nose and mouth the block the greasy stink of the cremation fires. The bodies of the slain monsters took a long time to burn.

They had plenty of fuel, though. Half the city had been demolished.

Misly lugged a bag of unspoiled grain to a building designated for food storage. She thought it might have been a playhouse. She struggled to lift it into the holding crate.

Brown hands closed over hers and helped shove the heavy sack into place. Her heart skipped alarmingly. She knew those hands.

She set her chin and turned to face him. “You survived, then,” she said lamely.

The Lieutenant dusted off his palms. “I did. Not for lack of trying.”

He had a bandage around his bicep, bruises and scratches to his face. She lifted a hand involuntarily, then snatched it back.

“I did, too. Survive, that is.”

“I see that.”

What was happening to her? Where was her sparkling wit? Her polish? Everything she had worked so hard to cultivate, to captivate?

“And I am grateful for it,” he added.

She couldn’t speak to tell him her joy in his safety. She scolded instead. “Where have you been?” she demanded, ripping off her mask. She was boiling hot, all of a sudden.

“Clearing the city,” he explained. “And looking for you.”

She cast about for something to distract him, to give her more time. What was wrong with her?

“I lost your knife.”

“How?”

“There was this monster and I was running, but it cornered me. I stabbed it, but it jerked it out of my hands, and I was running again and- “

His lips pressed against hers, silencing her babbles.

A long time later, he lifted her chin. “I can’t understand a word you say when you talk that fast.”

She was blubbering now, noisy tears of joy and worry and heartache. He held her close.

“My parents will _hate_ you,” she hiccupped. “I need to marry someone _rich_.”

“Why?”

“So Nelsin can be a Magistrate.”

Sorrint gave her a wry look. “I doubt there will be an Assembly Session this winter, _astana_. And who says I am not rich? It means wealthy, correct?”

She nodded. “Are you?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter? To you? I don’t give a damn about your parents. Does it matter to _you_ , Misly Thala Brynn?”

She shook her head. “Of course not.” That earned her another breathless kiss. She could get used to this. To him and his drawling accent and how he made that sort of smiling scowl when he was exasperated with her.

“I’ll ask him, if you want. That’s how you do this in Hyrule, yes? Ask the father?” That bewildered him.

“How is it done in Ordon?”

He actually blushed a little. “Women in my home are many times more forward in their…interest.”

She blushed, too, wondering how many women he had been pursued by. He was a good-looking man. Not the most attractive she’d met, but solid and clear eyed. Those were stupid examples, but he just felt…safe. Strong. Powerful. Her legs went all weak.

“Are you unwell?”

She started to shake her head, then changed her mind. He gripped her elbow, now scolding her for working too hard. She clutched at him and he scooped her up. She did not protest as he strode down the street with her in his arms for all of Hyrule to see. She wanted every female on the continent to know this man belonged to her and her alone.

She snuggled up to him, her lips touching his neck. His grip on her tightened, even as he hissed at her to stop.

She smiled. She would employ all her arts to make sure he knew it, too.

 

Sheik watched Ordon pace. The man limped heavily, but rebuffed all urges to rest, to be healed.

“See to Link,” he’d say. The healer would remind him that they had done all they could for the boy. Now, they could only wait.

Sheik stretched his own aching body. Middle age was a cruel tyrant. The cool weather and misting rain did not help matters.

The medallion at his neck warmed and he turned to see Impa coming toward them. She greeted him cheerfully, touching her forehead to his.

“Brother.”

“Sister.”

She grinned at him, her lopsided smile no longer identical to his. She glanced to the Ordonian king. “No change in the prince?”

Sheik shook his head.

“The queen?”

“Awake, but weak still. She frets. You know how she is.”

Impa made a disgusted noise. “Why don’t they let her see him?”

“Something about their delicate mental states? They had a connection, one of his Lieutenants told me. She could see his memories and speak with him across distance.”

Impa frowned. “How?”

Sheik did not try to understand. “I do not trifle in the affairs of the Goddess.”

Impa snorted rudely. She had never been so respectful. “Where are they?”

Sheik waved over his shoulder. “Can’t you see his king fretting himself to death?”

“That’s Ordon?” She examined him critically. “Younger than I thought. Looks handy with that cleaver strapped on his back.”

Sheik eyed her. “I doubt you’ll have much success there, sister.”

She elbowed him. “Go rest, little brother. I’ll see if I can get this Ordon to leave off his death watch as well.”

“I wish you luck.”

She made a face at him and strode over to the anxious king.

“Ordon? Greetings, friend. I am Impa.”

Sheik left them to it. He ducked under the heavy curtain hung over the missing door of the house. It had been some wealthy citizen’s residence. Now, their wounded lay on makeshift pallets in the great room, more crowded into the dining salons.

A scowling Ordonian soldier let him peek into a room at the back.

The lamps burned low, not entirely hiding the pallor to the prince’s face.

“How is he?”

The healer sitting near him glanced up. “His physical injuries are healing well.” She twitched the heavy bandage wrapped tight around his chest. Another was fastened around his arm, his leg, his head.

Sheik grimaced, knowing too well what she meant. “The queen?”

She pointed to the building across the garden.

Sheik found his queen restless and impatient.

“Is he well?” she demanded. Her own healer urged her to lay back. “They won’t let me see him. I can’t find him in the dream place! Please, is he- “

“He is alive,” he told her. She hit the mattress with clenched fists.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it!”

The healer was out of patience. “Your Majesty, please, I must insist- “

She pushed him away and swung her legs out of bed. Tried to, at least. Sheik caught her when she stumbled, her entire body trembling.

She swatted away the hand he lifted to her forehead.

“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “I’ll have you banished!”

He chuckled, wondering at the change in her. Love, he supposed. Yet different than before.

“I was only going to feel your temperature, my queen.”

“She’s in a high fever,” the healer stormed. “And needs to rest!”

“I’m fine!”

“What good will it be for you to slay the colossus, single-handedly storm the palace, defeat Ganon, and then die from a simple infection!”

Zelda scowled but relented. Allowed them to tuck her back into bed. Swallowed the medicine Sheik noticed the healer slipped a double dose of sedative into at the last moment.

It worked quickly. Her eyes grew heavy and dark.

“Please,” she begged Sheik. “Please, watch him. I’m so worried he’ll do something before I can see him, before I can forgive him.”

Sheik held her hand tightly. “I’ll keep him safe, little one. I promise.”

The herbs finally dragged her under. The healer shooed him away.

 

He was aware that he was alive. Lying in a soft, warm bed. Aware of people moving around him, turning him, changing the bandages that covered his wounds.

But it was muted, obscured by the dark trees around him. He stood in the cold twilight and looked around aimlessly.

Voices whispered to him. He knew them well. That one mourned with the regret of a mother. That one raged, whining and strident. A small child called for help, lost and alone.

He walked toward it. He had never dared before, fearing what he would find, what would happen of it wasn’t a child, but some demon waiting to consume him.

The crying grew louder. His chest felt heavy, hot and sharp where her Sword had pierced him. Her face had been terrible. He remembered that much, the pain of the Sword and her own guilt.

It _was_ a child. It sat huddled in the roots of a drooping tree, arms wrapped tight around its thin legs.

He crouched by it. “Little one? Are you lost?”

It sniffed and lifted its face. He stared into its eyes, one clouded, the other vibrant blue.

The boy flinched as Link reached for him. He drew back an instant but persisted. The boy’s skin was cold under his fingers.

“Who did this to you, little one?”

The boy shrugged.

“Where did you come from?”

The boy’s uneven stare stabbed into him. He knew this boy, remembered him. He pressed his hands to the earth, griped the sheets to keep himself within.

It tried to drag him in, hungry, so hungry. The boy’s mouth opened wide, a silent scream, wanting something, _anything_ to fill the void in them.

“Gently now.”

Pain pulled him back. He groaned and they moved him more carefully. He panted, sweat on his face.

Goddess above, he was tired of pain. He had used it to keep him here for so long, had lived with it gnawing at him until he couldn’t remember what it was like to _not_ hurt.

He had used it to mask how weak he was. Link of the Gotkasi, Champion, Captain, Prince, Chosen: how could this man be weak? He slew giants, defeated armies.

Now? Now they all knew. They had seen how easily he had fallen to Ganon. They knew it was all a lie.

Someone wiped his face gently.

“Sleep, Link. Try to rest.”

The boy’s eyes would not stop their accusing stare.

“Are you lost?” he asked yet again. “I can help you.”

The boy did not speak. Had he any voice left? Any choice? The darkness beyond whispered that he did. He could always choose to give in, stay here in these dark woods. Lie down, sleep, finally sleep.

He wanted to. Even rested against the slimy trunk. The wound in his chest throbbed with his heart. He could still feel where she had tried to heal him. He was grateful for it, though she did not know this was something she couldn’t heal.

Was that her hand on his face? He smiled, drinking in her warmth.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Not his voice, but what he was thinking.

“What’s happening to him?” she asked in a fierce whisper.

“Your Majesty, he needs to- “

“Tell me. Please.”

The man sighed. “We are doing our best, but the damage…”

A distant memory of those words, Cantor to Ordon. Before he knew who the tall, bearded man was, before he could really understand what they said.

_We’ll do our best, sir. But the damage…_

The boy next to him shivered, remembering, too. He pulled him close, cuddling the boy’s starved frame next to his.

“It will be alright,” he told him.

The boy looked up, his one bright eye searching his face.

“Does it hurt?” he asked in a soft, whispery voice.

“What?”

“Dying?”

He had died many times, in as many ways. “No. Before, yes, if you’ve been in battle. But death is quiet. A release.”

The boy thought about this. “I want to die.”

“I know.”

She rested her head on his chest. The weight of it pressed into the wound she had made. He wanted it, wanted her close to him, but resented that her touch brought _more_ pain.

Couldn’t it just _stop?_

“She’s crying.”

He sighed, stroking the boy’s close-shaved head. “She’s sad.”

“Why?”

“She thinks we’re lost to her.”

“I _am_ lost,” the boy said.

“She thinks we’re going to die.”

He didn’t understand. “Why does that make her sad?”

“She loves me. Loves us.”

The boy watched her for a while. “Does she know it hurts you?”

“Her love? I don’t know. But she would never hurt us on purpose.”

The boy rubbed his chest, the same place as his own pain.

“Does it always hurt?”

“What?”

“Love?”

Link considered. “No. No, not always.”

“I don’t want to hurt anymore.” His thin voice cracked. “Will you make it stop?”

“I can’t.”

The boy tried to push him away. Link held tightly to him, soothing him. “Hush, little one. You cannot hide from it. Only endure, fight.”

“I can’t.”

“You _can_. You are strong.”

The boy’s eyes closed slowly. “I’m so tired.”

“Sleep, little one. I’ll protect you.”

“You won’t leave me alone?”

“Never.”

The boy smiled. His sigh lasted a long time, his body finally relaxing. Link held him and watched the swirling mists above them.

 

_Champion._

He sat up. The mist was clearing, opening.

The voice again, beckoning him. The others had fallen silent. He stood, looking to where it called to him. He bent down and lifted the sleeping boy. He stirred and wrapped his thin arms around Link’s neck.

It was brilliant after the dimness of the woods. He blinked against it.

The boy pushed from his shoulder and grimaced. “It’s too bright.”

 _Champion_.

He knew that voice. He turned to see the Master waiting. He dropped his eyes, ashamed.

The boy squirmed until Link set him down. He watched disbelieving as the child ran to the Master.

“There you are!” the man cried. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The boy squealed with joy, giggling as he was swung up into the air.

There was another, a youth. And another, an older man. Dozens of them, all gathered around the child, hugging him, caressing him, welcoming him home.

Link had to look away. His pain was nothing to this ache, knowing he didn’t belong with them.

“Link,” the man said, his ancient voice warm with pride.

Years of discipline, of obedience forced him to respond, “Yes, Master?”

The Hero of Old smiled. “No, Link. _You_ are the Master of the Sword.” He took the boy by the hand. “Guide our Hero well.”

They were gone.

 

Alone.

It had been his fear as far back as he could remember. Even through the mist of the Goddess it cut, sharp and desperate.

To be alone. To die alone and forgotten.

Now? Now he would die known as the Hero who failed, who allowed Ganon to consume him.

A cruel irony.

“I am many times called a cruel mistress.”

He lifted his head from his hands. She looked out over her kingdom, the whole of existence spread before her.

She sighed and looked down at him. He stared back, surprised. She was not beautiful like Her sisters. But her eyes were warm and understanding.

“You did not fail.” she said. “Because you were never the Hero.” She touched his head, his cheek. “I am sorry, my child. It was a lie We had to let you believe.”

“Why?”

She did not answer him. “You are not weak. You did what no one else could.”

“But _why_?”

“We are so proud of you.”

He was taller than Her. “Tell me why!”

She smiled tenderly up at him. “Because she loves you.”

 

When he woke again, he was truly awake. He sat up, surprised at how easily he moved. He felt his chest. His fingers found the old brand and the new scar crossing it.

The room was quiet, but he could hear activity outside. Afternoon, he thought, by the color of the light.

His legs were shaky. He waited until his head stopped swimming, then stood. Someone had left a pair of loose trousers and a tunic on a chair. He dressed, wondering what day it was. What month.

What had happened to him?

He had to sit.

It was all there. Everything. Every day, every memory. His breathing grew ragged as he remembered.

Hyn, the slave master, and his cruel whip.  The thin blanket he slept on, the hunger and the fear.

The desperate thirst, the biting stones cutting his feet, the bitter taste of the blood in his mouth.

Their heavy hands as he lay helpless, unable to move.

The noise of the city, the leering faces. The searing light when She looked on him before everything became muffled and dim.

A new hunger, always pushing, driving, seeking. Never satisfied. Never enough, never good enough. The fear he dare not voice, lest they realize his worthlessness, see how weak the foundations of his strength truly were.

The might of Ganon.

He pressed his fists into his eyes. He would do anything to have Her let him forget that. He would die Her slave a thousand times. The taint of the Shadow on his soul. Remembering what he had done.

His home in flames. The innocents he slew, thousands who died by his hand. Cantor. By Ordona, her _father_!

“Link!”

He dragged himself out of the well of his memories.

She stood in the doorway. Was it the sun or her own radiance that shone behind her?

She was there, too, this goddess, winding through his thoughts. She came near him and touched his face, his lips. He stared up at her.

She smiled sweetly, kindly. “Link, do you remember what happened?”

He did. _All_ of it. Not a thundering crash of memories, but filling him, swelling from the void in him.

The quiet and gentle Sella, who would hum to him when he could not sleep after a beating.

Rhynna and her patience while he learned to talk again, to not fear to be touched.

Firn, Harro, Cantor, Davin, Sorrint.

The expression on Ordon’s face as he watched Link, an expression he did not have a name for, but later learned was pride.

His own pride when he realized that his lord trusted him. Wanted him. _Loved_ him.

Laughing with Sorrint and Wilm. Alea’s giggles as they slipped away from the firelight.

The power, the intoxicating promise of the Goddess’ blessing settling over him. The first time he held the Master Sword.

The moment the truth struck him that he loved this woman. During their flight back to Hyrule to return her to her people. Watching her sleep curled up on the ground, her regal beauty relaxed into something earthly.

It was a new fear, knowing he would die for this woman. He would have before; it was who he was, who he had been trained to be. But also that he would _live_ for her, do anything to make her happy.

Which he had failed at, utterly.

He dropped eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. It was pathetic, inadequate. But nothing else could be said. How he could he tell her now? After he had ripped her country apart, betrayed her, abandoned her? “Zelda, I am so sorry.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“If I had been stronger, if I had- “

“No,” she said firmly. “You are not weak. You fought so bravely. You did what no one else could. You defeated Ganon. I am so proud of you.”

He stared at her. Had that been _her_ in his vision? He thought Faroe…but if _she_ was the Hero, then…

“You are not weak. You held the Triforce. And you gave it up.”

He remembered that to, the infinite spread before him. How small this conflict was, how fleeting their lives were. Yet, so precious.

But, if she was the Hero, if she held Courage, then _he_ held the others. _He_ held Power and Wisdom.

“Link? Are you still in pain?”

Was he? He was surprised when he found that he wasn’t. Physically, yes. He’d been stabbed with a sword made from the might and glory of the Goddesses. But his self-doubt, his deep, hidden self-loathing…

Firm inside him shone the Power of Ordona and the Wisdom of Hylia. How could this have happened? _Why_? What did he do now?

He caught his breath as she touched his neck, pulled his collar aside. She felt the scar she had made and her eyes sparkled with tears.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Zelda, darl-” He closed his teeth on the endearment. “There is nothing to forgive. You _saved_ me.”

She sent him a swift look and dropped her eyes again. “I missed you, Link.”

She was so close. He could take her in his arms, kiss her, pull her to the still warm bed behind them. _She_ _loves you_.

“After you defeated him, do you also remember what you did? What you said?”

That had the reassuringly normal fuzziness of blood loss, rather than any divine intervention.

“A little.”

“You called me something. _Volje_ , I think?”

He swallowed. “Did I?”

Her eyes were brilliant behind her lashes. “My Ordonian has gotten much better, but I’m not sure what it means.”

“It’s not Ordonian.” he hedged.

“Gotkasi, then?” She had moved closer somehow. Her body pressed against his. He kept his hands at his sides. “A compliment, I assume? Or a pet name?”

This woman would be the death of him. “Not…not exactly.”

Her arms twined around his neck. “Tell me, my prince. Tell me _exactly_ what you mean.”

 

Firn was there when she woke up. She blinked at the woman, disoriented. Firn in Hyrule? Or was she still in Ordon?

Firn smiled and pressed a finger to her lips. “He is still sleeping.”

Another strange thing. Link lay next to her, sprawled on his stomach. She stared at him, too.

“Heard you up talking past midnight,” Firn commented. Zelda snuggled into the warm blankets to hide her blush. They had spent much of the night talking.

Among other things.

“Hungry?” Firn asked. “The cooks are just waking, but I can find you something to tide you over until breakfast.”

“Yes, please,” Zelda said meekly. Hylia save her, she felt fourteen years old again, caught kissing a boy behind a bush in the gardens.

Firn patted her head and went out.

Now what?

Link grimaced as the door shut. She held perfectly still and he settled back to sleep.

Hylia hear her plea, _what did she do now?_

First, find some clothing. She slid out of bed and scrambled into her tunic. Except it was _his_ tunic. Goddess, she was bad at this.

Finally in the correct clothing, she sat and tucked her legs up. Her toes were cold. The bed was warm. But she didn’t think she had the courage to crawl back in and risk waking him up.

She hid her face in her hands. She had practically dragged him into the bed. She actually _had_ pushed him back a little. Not that he had resisted her. She hadn’t wanted him to have time to think, to find a reason why this wouldn’t work.

They both knew what the other felt. Still, it was… not mortifying. Uncomfortable. Yes, uncomfortable to acknowledge the emotions she had been carrying through this madness.

And when he woke up and remembered -he remembered _everything_ , now- what would he feel? The same shyness? Or regret? Disappointment?

His lazy smile as he had fallen asleep hinted that he had _not_ felt so in the early hours. But sunrise had a way of returning people to sanity.

Firn was back. She moved soundlessly across the rug. She placed a tray with covered dishes on a low table.

“It is still early, my dear. Will you try to sleep for a while longer?”

Zelda glanced warily to the bed. “No. I’m not tired.” A lie; she was exhausted. Sleeping for the next week sounded like not enough.

Firn sniffed but led her to a dressing screen. A standing bath in tepid water and a dress that did not quite fit. She grimaced at the skirts. They felt cumbersome. Firn cinched the extra fabric around her waist with a silk sash.

“Had to find something this big, to fit your shoulders, my dear.”

One outcome of swinging a sword for the last five months. Had it really been so long?

Firn continued the effort to tame her hair. The ends had been cut off as hopeless. Bit by painful bit, they were combing through the rest.

Eyes watering, Zelda told Firn to shear it.

“No,” the woman said firmly. “Your head will be cold this winter.”

“I don’t- “

“And you wouldn’t want to be bald at your wedding, would you?”

Zelda clamped her teeth shut and fumed.

As the morning progressed, more servants moved stealthily through the suite. A mix of Hylian and Ordonian guards stood at the doorways. Firn coordinated everything with a gracious smile.

No one seemed the least astounded at any of it. It was more embarrassing than if they were shocked.

Firn herself carried in the Master Sword and the Sword Made to Pierce the Darkness. She lovingly laid them in a stand. Zelda’s weapon looked drab next to the gilded sheath of the Master Sword.

“A fine blade,” Firn commented, touching the diamond with reverent fingers. “Elegant, clean, precise.”

“It fulfilled its destiny.” He had used it to dispel the Shadow. She had used it to save him.

“And you will continue to answer the call of the Goddess.”

Was that what was eating at her? The thought that she was finished, her part in this grand battle over? For all the heartache and pain, she had almost enjoyed it.

He felt the same, laced through his memories. A small peck of guilt that he _enjoyed_ the power he wielded. Did that make him like Ganon?

“For when he finally wakes,” Firn said, handing her a bundle of cloth. It was a Champion’s Tunic. “I am still hemming yours, my dear. Should be ready later this morning.”

He found her sitting, tracing the embroidery of his collar with her fingers.

He cleared his throat. She met his eyes shyly. He smiled a little and she knew everything would be alright.

He didn’t want to wear it. She told him to stop being stupid and yanked it over his head. Firn brought hers in, cut longer, a half dress almost, after the Tatolan fashion in the south.

“You wear the Blue well,” Link told her.

The azure silk gave her brazen confidence. “I just hope Firn didn’t use my entire supply of _besum_ for it. Otherwise, what will we use for our- put me down!”

 

He continued to grumble as she smoothed the wrinkles out of the shoulders.

“You’re still the Champion _and_ a Prince,” she said firmly. “If I have to wear this stupid crown, you can bear wearing a blue tunic.” She had found the spiked crown waiting by the weapon stands. She had lost it during the battle with the colossus and hoped it gone forever.

“Goron?” he asked, grimacing at the daggers above her head.

“From King Baeark himself.”

Link groaned. “Is he here?”

“No, why?”

“Maybe he won’t kill me now he knows I’m royalty,” he mused. “Bad politics, to murder the consort of your most powerful ally.”

“Might be preferable than getting one of these yourself.” She shifted the heavy metal. “Gives me a headache.”

She buckled her sword in place and turned to find Link had gone pale. She followed his gaze to the Master Sword. She held it out to him.

“No.” His tone was flat, none of the playful refusal about his tunic.

“It is no longer cursed.” She had peeked while he still slept. The steel shone bright. She had felt the soul of it stir and hastily returned it to its place.

He reached for it, then clenched his fist. “I can’t. I am not the Hero.”

There it was, plain in his eyes: the hunger for power, for the might of the Sword. He looked away from the temptation.

She threw the baldric over his shoulder and pulled it snug over his heart. He was weeping. She held him close.

“You are worthy to hold it,” she told him fiercely. “It chose _you_. Even though They knew who you were. It _knew_ you would prevail.”

His held her tightly for a long time, then pushed back. He wiped his face impatiently with the back of a hand.

“Ask it, if you doubt.”

He drew it carefully. The hairs on her neck prickled.

 _Champion_.

It was not the voice she heard. Link sighed and some of the tension left his face.

“See?”

His voice was thick as he asked, “Were you always this bossy?”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

His firm mouth on hers was answer enough.

Firn bustled in. “Alright, children, enough, enough. You can’t hide in here all day! Link, _astana_ , Ordon is sitting on thistles out there. Please go reassure him you are not dead?”

Link laughed and she had never heard anything more wonderful.

 _“Ta,_ Firn, I’m coming.”

 

 

**Epilogue**

Enon scowled at the shoes of the adults around him. They were all scolding him, yelling at each other, shouting for others to come support them.

Young Terpandra sniveled across the room, clutched tightly in his mother’s arms. Enon made a face at him and his own mother cuffed him sharply.

“You dishonor our name,” she said fiercely.

“Mama, I _had_ to- “

“Enough.”

Being royalty was the worst.

The crowd turned as one, still arguing hotly.

“What is going on?” The queen’s voice carried over the noise. “No, Bustine, enough!”

They hushed, chastened. Enon’s mother gestured curtly for him to approach the queen. He did but dropped his eyes when he saw the Prince at her side.

The queen stood with hands on hips. “Now, what is so important I needed to be pulled from my wedding feast?”

Enon wondered if she had always been so brusque, even before her rise as the Hero. All the songs he had heard about her described a gentle beauty, a delicate, radiant queen.

She _was_ radiant. Incandescent, in fact, as she glared around the room.

Terpandra’s father apparently had the courage his son did not.

“I apologize, Your Majesty, Your Highness. A little dispute, a scuffle between boys- “

“A _scuffle!”_ Terpandra’s mother shrieked. “That demonspawn nearly killed my son!”

Enon felt Link’s questioning eyes and flushed.

The queen’s voice was icy. “To whom are you referring?”

Lady Terpandra did not hear the danger. “This…this… _animal!”_

Enon wondered if he should bite the finger that jabbed at him. He read the warning in Link’s face and ducked his head meekly once more. Would they believe him if he sniffled a little? He doubted it.

Lord Terpandra tried to salvage the situation. “She is distraught, Your Majesty. Our only son, you know, overprotective.”

Enon’s mother’s hand clamped on his shoulder. “As is my child, yet I do not see reason to coddle him.”

Enon winced in anticipation of the caning he would get. There was certainly no coddling in his house. His mother, his family, all of Ordon, may indulge and adore him, but that did not stop swift and due justice.

The room went warily still when Link spoke.

“I have yet to hear what this ‘scuffle’ was about.”

Enon did not like how the adults would not meet the Prince’s eyes. It was harder, now. He had always been something more than the men around him. Now his eyes glinted with the power of a god.

Enon clenched his bruised fists and lifted his chin. “It was my fault.”

Link did not believe him. “Explain.”

“I lost my temper. I am sorry, my prince. Your Majesty.”

“And what happened to make you lose your temper?” Link persisted.

Enon swallowed nervously. “Terpandra said something I disagreed with.”

“Disagreed.” Link swept a cold look over the boy’s bloody nose and swollen eyes. “Must have been quite the philosophical dispute.”

Enon’s skin prickled as whispers rushed around the room, translating this into every language represented among the guests. He had to get out of here, stop the queen from hearing. He bowed low to the fuming woman.

“I am deeply sorry.  Lady Terpandra, if there is any way I can make reparations- “

She swelled with rage. Zelda cut her off.

“I’m curious,” she said in that falsely calm voice. “What was said?”

Enon looked panicked to Link. He knew. He had to have heard the slurs muttered behind her back. Link smiled a wicked smile.

“Yes, Enon, tell us what was said.”

He chanced a look to his mother. Her mouth was firm. “Speak, son. Never be afraid to tell the truth.”

He was afraid. Which is why he had tried to silence the stupid boy, show them it was a terrible idea to cast aspersions on the queen. On the woman the Champion of Ordona loved.

“Terpandra was commenting on the unusual nature of Ordonian wedding customs.”

The queen’s laugh was as false as her calm. “That is hardly something to fight over, Enon.”

“And…” He had to clear his throat, the worry and fear making him sick. “And how we of Ordon must have different ideas of a woman’s virtue.”

The queen raised an eyebrow. “For all the lessons you shirk, you are remarkably glib, Enon. I fear some of our Hylian guests may not understand your meaning.”

She knew, too. A weight lifted and his anger burned bright. He spoke loud and clear in Hylian. “He called you a whore, my queen.”

The silence in the room went on and on.

“A whore.” She turned to the Terpandra family. Her Ordonian wedding costume left her stomach bare. The slight rounding there made the traditional symbols of fertility redundant. “Neither original nor accurate, seeing as I only bed one man.”

That man’s arms were folded across his bare chest, his own markings of _besum_ dye vibrant. “Thank you, Enon, for defending your queen’s honor. But you know it is unbecoming a Prince of the House to fight those he knows are without the skill or strength to defend themselves.”

Enon was more ashamed of that than this whole sordid mess. How he had enjoyed the surprised pain on Velt’s face, the ease at which the taller, older boys went down under his attack. Feeling Terpandra’s nose crack under his fist, his blood pounding hot and fast under his skin.

“Yes, my prince.”

Lord Terpandra was scrambling to make apologies, assuring the queen that his son would be chastised, that this in no way reflected _his_ opinion of his queen. She stared coldly at them until they had the sense to flee. The others dispersed as quickly as was dignified.

Enon stayed where he was, held in place by his mother’s hand on his shoulder. Soon they were alone, the four of them.

Zelda’s calm faltered. Link took her in his arms. He whispered something to her. She nodded and straightened with a toss of her head. Her braids swung, a golden foil to the silver spikes of her crown.

“Enon,” she beckoned. He went to her hesitantly. She knelt and hugged him tightly. He hid his face in her shoulder for a moment. He loved this woman so much, for her kindness to him, her devotion to his prince. “My brave warrior. Was it awful?”

He hated how anger still made him cry. He wiped his eyes impatiently. “I told them to stop, that a woman’s virtue is her own. They wouldn’t apologize. They dishonor their queen!”

“Who was it, my dear?”

“Terpandra and Velt and Retno.” The others had run when the servant had discovered them. He wondered how they would explain away their bruises.

She kissed his forehead. “I thank you, noble Enon, prince of Ordon. But I must still punish you for behavior unfit a member of the House.”

He set his chin. “I am a soldier of Ordon. I pay my debts gladly.”

 

He spent the rest of the feast sitting gingerly in his seat. Link had a heavy hand. It was an honor that he volunteered to give the beating; Enon’s mother, despite her stern words, always went easy on her darling. The man saw his squirms and reached over to ruffle his hair.

Enon scowled for the benefit of the Hylians looking sideways at him and hid his grin in a forkful of cake. They would never understand, these Hylian savages.

He was a Soldier of Ordon.


End file.
